Political Interest
by Paper Pearls
Summary: Malcolm was happy to manipulate Ollie for the chance of learning more about the Tories' plans, but to what extent will he compromise himself for the chance of gaining useful information? This is set during Series 3. Bad language ahead.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first "The Thick of It" fanfiction and I hope that it is believable. Malcolm Tucker is a fascinating character full of contradictions; he claims not to know the difference between scruples and low fat kettle chips but is deeply loyal to the government he keeps afloat, he doesn't give a fuck about offending people or their feelings but on his way out of Number 10 he took the time to make sure that Sam wasn't being harassed and then of course there was the time Terri tried to 'communicate'. Anyway, he was perfectly happy to pimp out Ollie on the chance of learning more about the Tories plans but what about himself? This is set during the third series.**

****

It was a proving to be both a quiet and less-shit-than-average day for the workers of the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship- that is to say that Malcolm Tucker, the Director of Communications, had not made an appearance on their floor yet and was scheduled to be spending the day with the foreign office team. The absence of their foul mouthed co-ordinator wasn't the most professional thing to hope for, nor was it the best thing for the department long term, but this was politics and if anything went wrong- which it often did at _DoSaC_, then there was always somebody else to point the finger at and ultimately direct Malcolm's wrath towards. This philosophy was favoured by almost everyone in the office, none more so than the morally lax Ollie Reeder.

He was supposed to be redrafting Nicola's speech to reveal the latest initiative she was putting into play, but in reality nobody actually gave a shit about _DoSaC_ and the minister was enough of a nervous wreck that she wouldn't notice he'd done nothing but toy with conjunctives and rephrase a couple of the Mannion jokes. Theoretically Ollie knew that he should deliver the fruits of his labour to his boss immediately, but workplace politics were so much more fun than working in politics. Glenn was elsewhere and had been for the past half hour, so indulging in his favourite sport of antagonising the old sod was going to have to wait. Ollie turned from the monitor and stood, heading towards the vending machines for a quick snack and a more leisurely snoop into the goings on of others- the only challenge in keeping his morning shit free would be avoiding- bollocks.

"Terri, hi! I'm just heading over for a snack, can I get you anything?" The civil servant shook her head emphatically, which was odd because none of her diets ever lasted beyond the first coffee run of the day. It saved him a couple of quid on galaxy bars and crisps, so Ollie wasn't too bothered about why she had decided to abstain from indulging.

"No, Ollie, no; you can't go over there." Terri gave a not-so-subtle tilt of her head and when he turned to investigate she stepped in front of him, pointless considering that he was a foot taller and could see over the top of her head. "Glenn and Robyn are over there!" She repeated the head tossing of her head, drawing stares from people occupying the nearby desks.

"Really?" She nodded twice and Ollie widened his eyes. "That's amazing, Terri. Honestly."

"Isn't it lovely! I mean, who'd have thought Glenn was brave enough to flirt with anybody."

"No Terri- what's amazing is that I didn't know it was possible for me to not give a fuck about anything quite as much as this, in fact... wait... _Glenn_ is _flirting_?"

"Yes."

"With an actual human being?" Despite what he was seeing- Glenn's hand on Robyn's shoulder- it defied the realms of possibility.

"Yes."

"But it's _Glenn_."

"Yes."

"And it's _flirting_. Shouldn't he be worrying about his heart just _giving out_ at that age?" Terri ignored this remark, not willing to commit totally to bitching about or defending Glenn. This was the easiest stance to take- as a civil servant she didn't _have_ political opinions, and it was the simplest approach to take about office loyalties too.

"He's liked Robyn since he met her, and there hasn't been anyone since his divorce." Ollie smirked, watching his aged colleague laughing sycophantically at a joke mousy Robyn had made, doubtlessly as bland as her Debenhams two piece suit.

"Yeah, probably because the rest of the dinosaurs died about, I don't know, only few million years ago. This I need to see- listen, thanks for the heads up Dot Cotton." Ollie continued on his way to the vending machines whilst studiously ignoring Terri's protestations. This was promising to be the most fun he'd had at _DoSaC_ since the time Fat Pat had tried to give Malcolm a lap dance at the Christmas party.

As though summoned by the thoughts of his underling, Malcolm Tucker stepped out of the elevator, hurried through the cluster of desks and collided with Ollie, almost resulting in causing him the heart failure he had predicted would claim Glenn. If Ollie believed in karma he'd stop using foul language and be kinder to those around him- as it was, he didn't.

"Fuck me Malcolm! Y-" The Scot pulled back and shrugged off his coat, dumping it unceremoniously on the nearest desk, destroying the perfect order of its contents as surely as he had done to the collective quality of the day in the department.

"Ollie, I didn't know that you felt that way!" Malcolm lifted his hand to his mouth theatrically before dropping his mocking tone. "I knew you were a bit James Fucking May, which is actually why I wanted to ask about this... situation." Only a short distance away, both Glenn and Robyn heard as Malcolm raised his voice and ceased their conversation, the latter scurrying away into an office. After giving an anxious smile to the spin doctor, Glenn pulled out his blackberry and headed in the opposite direction. Ollie thought about what Malcolm could possibly want him for, and more intently about how best to diffuse the situation.

"Oh, er, about Nicola's speech- it's almost done but I thought I'd better-"

"Nicola's speech and pond life; what do they have in common, genius boy?"

"Uh... I wrote one, and I am the other?" Malcolm blinked in surprise, running a hand through his greying hair.

"Good guess, but no; I don't give a flying fuck about either. Are they shagging?"

"What... Nicola and pond life? I know she's a bit dumpy, but-"

"Leave the jokes to me, Marcus Fagstocke; I've got a complete clusterfuck to sort out later at the foreign office and this is quite possibly the only part of the day I won't be thinking about just snapping, you know? For instance, I could quite happily take this desk tidy," Malcolm picked up the plastic pink desk tidy he had knocked over and examined it, "shove it up your arse, and every time Robyn wants to sharpen one of her _Hello Kitty_ pencils she can ram it up your cock in the hope of it meeting this little metal sharpener and twist. That's quite tempting... okay, I lied; I _do_ feel like snapping. So tell me about Glenn and Robyn _now_."

"Right... the thing is I don't actually know, Malcolm. I doubt it- I mean, he probably can't get it up for a start. Anyway, ask Terri. She seems to know everything about those two." In his usual disconcerting manner, Malcolm continued staring at Ollie as though in an attempt to burn the flesh from his face. "So... is there a reason you care? After all, it isn't like this can be used to get information about the opposition." Terri was staring at the scene from behind a plant pot in her usual conspicuous way. Ollie tried to catch her eye, but she stared determinedly at the air between the two men.

"Just a bit of seasoning to this very fucking bland porridge that is _DoSaC_. Adds a bit of variety to the usual taste of shit left by the series of fuck ups this department consists of, y'know?"

"Speaking of _DoSaC_, why is it that you're honouring us with your delightful presence this morning?" Ollie hoped that the words weren't too obviously laced with sarcasm. Then again, something was bound to set Malcolm off soon so why not this?

"You don't kn- _you mean that you don't fucking know_?" Ollie was never going to be able to predict Malcolm's moods because the man swung with alarming speed from unnaturally from his own profane version of almost-civil to one scary fucker. The day went from mediocre to a nightmare in the few seconds it took for Malcolm to highlight his own ineptitude.

"Ollie, remember in the papers it said that..." With surprising speed Terri rounded the potted plant and came over to try and act as damage control. "That Mannion's lot have been badmouthing the department and our commitment to the... the..." Malcolm raised an eyebrow, watching with mild interest as Terri became increasingly flustered.

"_The... the_... The fact that nobody here has a fucking clue about anything- that is what the opposition _should_ be broadcasting. In fact, without me here to fucking mother the lot of you the probability of anything actually going right is about as likely as Glenn getting fired into Robyn." Unfazed by the way he had just shouted into her face, Terri soldiered on.

"Actually, that's looking like a distinct possibility at the... at the moment..." Malcolm stared at Terri as though she had suggested a group hug. "All I'm saying is-"

"Shut it Oprah. Mannion and his lot have been using media coverage to suggest that Nicola's new initiative is all words... who could say such a thing after all that _DoSaC_ has done for the public? But what has _DoSaC_ done for the public? Fuck all, chiefly. So I've talked to Tom and the people at the treasury and we're throwing enough money at this thing to buy a fucking small country.... well, a fucking small country house... in somewhere shite like Yorkshire. Smug and Glum's in there having a tizzy about it now, so Terri you can fuck off and help her get sorted. What are you waiting for; a personalised invite? _Dear Mrs Coverley, kindly fuck off and do what I'm telling you to do, if of course it is convenient as I know you're often busy planning on watching X Factor with the hubby, worrying that you're not home enough and then eating a tub of ice cream in the loos to cheer yourself up. Sincerely, Mister Fucking Darcy_." Taking the hint, Terri rushed over to her desk to collect a small manila folder before heading towards Nicola's office.

"And you, Ollie, you are going to take your girlfriend out tonight and casually mention that the project has been put on a hiatus." That was the best way to get the Tories to look in the opposite direction.

"But I'm supposed to be at Julius' party tonight- it's compulsory." Malcolm had forgotten about that baldy twat's documentary on the House of Lords being released and the mandatory accompanying bourgeoisie nibble-eating soiree. There was no way out, not even for him; Tom had made it clear that he wanted at least a show of a united front because the reception would be crawling with journalists. Why that meant he couldn't slip out quietly before the premiere started was beyond Malcolm.

"_So invite her along_! Dinner's on that wanker anyway; cheaper than Venice, no? Do I need to spell out everything for you?" Malcolm turned on his heel, conversation clearly over, and headed towards Nicola's office.

"Thanks Malcolm.... you scheming Scottish bastard, for killing any hope I had of getting laid tonight. Again." He paused at the door but didn't turn around.

"I heard that." Ollie decided that at this point the continuation of his life was more important than maintaining his facade of dignity and so ran towards the stairs out of the building, deciding that a cigarette break was called for. "And I want Nicola's speech to have been given lipo and a fucking face lift by the time I'm done in here." The blissful rush accompanied by nicotine could wait, then. Ollie returned to his desk, barely noticing that Glenn was back and attempting to use his computer once more.

"How's the speech coming, Ollie?"

"Only about as painfully slowly as you do over Robyn."

"That is bang out of order." It was a sign of how truly crap things were that Ollie didn't have some kind of caustic rejoinder on the tip of his tongue, and instead focussed on revamping the speech for the press conference. Sensing the mood, Glenn too returned to work.

****

Two hours later, Malcolm Tucker was pacing in the office of cabinet minister Nicola Murray like a caged lion. His mood had worsened at an exponential rate since he had entered the room and caught sight of her drab clothes and incompetent face, knowing what he would have to work with in an effort to make the initiative seem exciting and relevant.

"Well, thank you Malcolm for your constructive criticism and for being so bloody patient with me." Exhausted, she leant back in her chair and turned her careworn face towards the ceiling.

"Oh _any time_ sweetheart, now get your miserable arse back in gear and listen to me; we're not finished until I say we're finished, and the fat lady has not opened her fucking big mouth and started to sing." His ranting drew to a close as Ollie breezed through the door, a self satisfied smirk on his face.

"Is Fat Pat going to serenade you Malcolm? Here's your speech, Nicola, and it isn't just a speech it is a Marks and Spencer's full bodied, roasted opposition speech courtesy of Ollie Reeder." He handed the sheets of paper over to his boss, watching as scanned through it. Malcolm stood directly behind her and read over Nicola's shoulder.

"Could you not do that, please?" She dropped the speech onto her desk, looking resolutely ahead.

"Not do what? What is it now?"

"Not stand so close to me. Only it's making me rather nervous." Tucker sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking.

"Given the choice between you, _darling_, and a sock with a happy face drawn on to it, I'm sorry to tell you that you come in at a not-so-fucking-close second both in regards to my sex life, should I become that desperate- and I mean _desperate_, and in people skills as a fucking minister. I mean at least the wank sock can smile as it pleases people, right?" Resigning herself to having her personal space invaded, Nicola lifted the papers to an angle both she and Malcolm could read from them.

"Why do you have to be unnecessarily offensive?"

"So you're conceding that a causing a little offense _is_ necessary? Because it is when I'm trying to get through to you, _minister_." Ollie left the room before things turned nasty, which they invariably did whenever Nicola decided to challenge Malcolm. If it wasn't up to scratch, which he very much doubted would be the case, then they could come and find him. In the mean time he had to convince Emma that Julius' party wouldn't be completely fucking boring, i.e. lie through his teeth- not that he had any problem doing so but his girlfriend would be expecting such liberties to be taken with the truth by now. He went to the desk and dialled the number, fiddling with the cord of his phone.

"Emma, hi. D'you fancy going out tonight?" Ollie hated how pathetic he sounded making the request. Still, when Malcolm said '_bend over_' you said '_fuck me harder'_ no matter whom you happened to be. It was a comforting if perverse thought that far more important people than him such as the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland were humiliated by Malcolm on a regular basis.

"That depends on where you're planning on taking me." She sounded tired and irritable, which wasn't a surprise seeing as her days essentially mirrored his.

"Where? It's a party at the St. James' hotel, and it'll be loads of fun."

"Malcolm's asked you to bring me to Julius' grand unveiling of the feature film, _Peers Are People_ or something like that, so you can get me drunk and try to dig up information, hasn't he?" The way she immediately assumed the worst almost hurt Ollie. Almost, but not quite.

"No! Malcolm's got nothing to do with this." Ollie stuck a finger up at the now smirking Glenn, wanting nothing more than to wrap the cable around his wrinkled neck and pull.

"Right, the way Dr Goebbels had nothing to do with the Second World War. Bye Ollie." The line went dead and he was left listening to a dialling tone along with Glenn's muffled laughter.

"Way to go, Romeo."

"Oh, fuck off. Like you have a date for this thing anyway." Reminding Glenn of how sad and lonely his life was always made him feel so much better about every problem that had arisen so far in during their working relationship.

"Then like your good friend Angela Heaney, you have an absolutely dreadful source."

"At least the last time I had sex was during the last week, never mind this century." A frosty silence descended, broken only by the tapping of keys as the two of them ignored one another. Looking vaguely murderous, Malcolm left Nicola's office and stood in between their desks.

"You and Emma are on for tonight, yeah?"

"Actually, no Malcolm."

"What do you mean _no_? She's still your bird, isn't she?" Glenn intervened, taking slightly too much pleasure in the bombshell he was about to drop.

"What Ollie means to say is that his beloved Emma has declined his offer on the perfectly reasonable assumption that you put him up to it, Malcolm. Our young friend is flying solo tonight." With a flourish he pushed the return button to send the latest email in his virtual conversation with Terri.

"Pathetic; you can't even interest your own girlfriend in spending time with you. Well, I'll see you pair of sad sacks tonight. Fuckity bye." The Director of Communications left with an oncoming headache and the knowledge that no matter how hard things got at DoSaC it was nothing in comparison to where he was headed- the Foreign Office.

"At least he thinks I'm potential sex bait. You don't even get in the picture." Glenn shot him a withering look before rising and heading in the direction of the coffee machine. The phone started up again and on the first ring he answered, hoping desperately that Emma had changed her mind- partly so that he could rub it in Glenn's face and partly because it would give him brownie points with Malcolm.

"Ollie, I need to see you in my office right away." It was Nicola, and she sounded like she was on the verge of hyperventilation. Lovely.

****

Inside the atrium of the St. James Hotel, Ollie Reeder wasn't the only person asking himself how his day had become so completely fucking dreadful. Various members of the government, opposition and all high flyers in the political world all along the spectrum of importance from the insignificant and stuttering secretaries to the biggest fish in the pond were fantasising about escape. What set apart each of Malcolm's dreams was that they included was killing Julius with his bare hands. In some the peer was followed by Tom due to the unbearable fact that he was being forced to mingle whilst wearing a tuxedo of all things.

"You know Ollie; I didn't think this day could get any worse until I saw your face." Perhaps torching the joint would be a better idea- it would save time and arson would be more difficult to trace.

"Malcolm, I didn't know you felt that way!"

"Fuck off."

"Yes Malcolm." Obediently Ollie turned to go when he came face to face with Phil and a brunette in a chartreuse cocktail dress Malcolm had never seen before, presumably Phil's date for the evening. The Director of Communications had always assumed that Phil carried a torch for Mannion, but perhaps not. Ollie was distressed by the arrival of his nemesis. "Phil... what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Your mother- its good quality hardcore stuff and so Julius agreed to let me screen it instead of his documentary." With the air of someone who had heard too many of the arguments between the young men before, the unknown female stepped around them and offered her hand to Malcolm.

"I'm Natalie Ward; a policy adviser to Her Majesty's Opposition. I'm also roommate to Phil and Emma, who was wise enough to turn down the invitation you most likely had Ollie offer her to tonight's _scintillating_ event." He shook her hand, observing her wry smile. "And you're the famous Malcolm Tucker of course. I've heard all about you from Ollie- apparently you pair are the central nervous system to the government. Is it true that you couldn't get by without him?" At this Ollie froze, Phil smirked and Malcolm's eyebrows rose in perfect unison.

"Oh yeah, Ollie's fucking indispensable." His eyes widened in disbelief- what could have caused Malcolm's surge of kindness? Was he terminally ill? The benign smile on his face only served to consolidate the theory in Ollie's eyes.

"I mean really, Malcolm, you know I do what I can." Shamelessly he continued the facade, unaware of the hole he was digging. "Which isn't _that_ much."

"Too right it isn't that much, more like sweet fuck all as far as _DoSaC_ is concerned, never mind anything else. The only thing you're good for is adding to the statistics we send to pressure groups of the number of queers employed by the government- oh _sorry_, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings Phil." Ollie excused himself and headed in the general direction of the bar with Phil hot on his heels.

"So why are you here? I have it on good authority that you and Lord Nicholson over there aren't exactly the best of friends." She plucked a glass of champagne from a passing tray and took a sip.

"Out of the goodness of my shrivelled black heart- I pity the poor bastard that much. You?"

"Someone had to babysit those two." Natalie's eyes darted towards Ollie and Phil, who were arguing loudly on their way up the stairs and attracting a great deal of attention. "And of course I was sent to see what nefarious scheme you'll put into play. I'm amazed you haven't already tried asking whatever it is that you think I'm stupid enough to tell you about our side of the fence."

"Would I do that? What kind of things have you been hearing about me, Natalie?" Malcolm smiled despite being internally seething that she was too smart to be slipped the hiatus line. He lifted an entire bottle of champagne from a passing waiter. "I think I'm going to need this- is there a problem here?"

"Sir, you can't take that much." The nervous waiter couldn't meet Malcolm's eyes.

"Who are you talking to, my cock or my face? You know Natalie, I didn't believe Julius when he told me that all of the staff in these fancy fucking venues are rent boys- in fact this is the first time Baldy's been right about anything I can think of."

"Please sir, I'll be happy to pour you a glass but you can't-"

"Can't _what_? Listen son, I'm not interested but if you wait around in the men's toilets I'm sure a bald man with a fucking ridiculous accent will tell you how to earn yourself a couple hundred quid or so, okay?" He headed towards the ornate stairway that the majority of the guests had already made their way up and caught sight of Glenn, his arm linked with that of Robyn.

"Well fuck me sideways."

"Share your bottle with me and I'll pretend to consider it." He caught sight of Natalie as she dropped her blackberry into the small clutch bag she wielded. "They closed the bar, which is probably the only reason people are going to the conference room." _No chance_ was the Mary Whitehouse version of the first thought that passed through Malcolm's mind- in order to retain his sanity through forty five minutes of what was sure to be first class shite made by an upper class piece of shite he would need to be as drunk as possible. But then he was Malcolm Tucker, and there was a way in which every situation could be manipulated to suit his needs.

"I don't see why not." He offered Natalie his arm.

"My good looks aside, remind me why is it that you want me to fuck you sideways?"

"A friend of mine's getting lucky tonight and not even I saw it coming." They passed through the doors to the conference room which had been turned into a cinema for the evening and took two of the only remaining seats in the middle of the room- the back was fully occupied by those who hoped to sneak out. "I didn't think it was possible."

"Oh, you mean Glenn." The lights dimmed and Malcolm took a swig of champagne with which to fortify himself as an enlarged image of a certain head resembling an egg appeared on the screen.

"How much do you know about _DoSaC_? Your life may well depend upon the answer." If Ollie couldn't manage to keep his mouth shut about simple things like a bit of office romance then he would need to evaluate what information he could be trusted with. Natalie pulled the bottle from his hand and drank from it.

"That would be telling. Besides, I want to learn how much you know about us_." I'll know everything that you're going to tell me, Natalie Ward, because I'll have you singing like a fucking canary_. They sat quietly for most of the feature presentation, the highlight of which was the closing credits. As the room cleared Julius could be seen mingling and belatedly it occurred to Malcolm that if he didn't get up then he would actually end up talking to the ponce.

"We need to go." Pulling Natalie to her feet and picking up the golden clutch bag, Malcolm attempted to follow the stream of people passing Julius and using the side exit as a short cut to the restaurant. If making himself into her superman didn't cause her to spill the beans he would be very surprised indeed. What he had failed to take into account was that Julius would actually want to speak to him- surely nobody was that masochistic.

"Malcolm, a word if you please." He stopped and released the vice grip on Natalie's arm.

"Julius! That was a great piece of work- it really showed that you put so much effort into making the project work. In fact, you could even win an award for it." He turned and looked at his fellow peers, basking in their approval before replying.

"You really think so?"

"Fuck _no_. That mock-you-mentary, and you will be fucking mocked for it, was as about as substantial as your fine head of hair. It was pretentious bullshit and the only connection the public are going to feel with you after that will be that they'll begin to despise your shiny smiling face too." He turned, leaving a flabbergasted peer of the realm behind, and led Natalie to the dining hall.

"At least you call a spade a spade, even if you do call it a bastard first." For a moment Malcolm wondered if his plan to charm information out of the opposition was going better than he could have anticipated as Natalie placed her hand on his, but then he felt her bag being tugged gently from his grasp and released it. "I'll see you later." He went and looked for the seat with his name plaque, and to his dismay found that it was beside Nicola Murray- a cruel twist of fate to be sure. Julius had planned this entire thing, including the seating arrangements, and had sat him here with the nobodies in order to belittle him. He sat down and reached for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table, trying to focus on the next steps in cultivating his plan as opposed to Robyn's twittering. More realistic than vain, Malcolm saw that it was unlikely he could seduce Natalie- she was at least twenty years his junior for a start despite her blasé jokes, but that didn't mean he was blacklisted as a potential friend.

"What did you say to Natalie? I don't really care if you hurt her feelings, but explaining it to Emma's going to be like 'Mission Impossible' only without the cool gadgets."

"Who's Natalie?" Robyn withdrew from her conversation with Glenn long enough to feign interest.

"Emma's roommate and kind of like my opposite number."

"Oh." Nicola nodded. "How did she survive her first time meeting you, Malcolm?"

"I'll have you know I was the perfect gentleman." A couple of moments' worth of awkward silence passed. "Fuck the lot of you."

"Are you sure you don't want to fuck Natalie? For the good of the party, I mean." Malcolm didn't know if he was going to throttle Ollie or congratulate him on a rare moment of coming close to the truth.

"Near enough, now tell me everything you know about her." Malcolm reached for a slice of bread from the basket in the centre of the table, noticing that the inability to speak had claimed the table once more.

"She's twenty four, likes reading and Chinese food and... you have got to be shitting me! It was a joke, admittedly in ill taste, but then so are all of my jokes." Surprisingly it was Nicola that voiced the collective opinion, perhaps in revenge for his earlier comment of her resembling Ronald McDonald gone transsexual depressive.

"Do you really think this girl would pick you over... what was the charming phrase you used- a wank sock, Malcolm?" Beginning to enjoy herself more than she had done all day, Nicola sipped at her glass of dry white wine. "How old are you anyway?"

"Seeing as she's a woman, Miss Jane Bloody Marple, she probably doesn't need a wank sock, and I said he was _almost_ right. I'm not planning on shagging her- it doesn't take much at all in that department to extract valuable information, as Ollie boy is living proof of. I'm just going to... why am I answering to you lot? Ollie, tell me about her."

"Malcolm, Emma is going to _kill_ me if she finds out about this, as in _properly_ kill me."

"Which is nothing compared to what I'm going to do with this steak knife if you don't change your tune." He lifted the implement in question and jabbed the air with it, ignoring the stares from surrounding tables.

"Alright, but I don't know her that well. She went to uni with Emma, when she took over Mannion's blog from Phil it became a bit less of a laughing stock, and she's the one that eats all of the food I leave in Emma's fridge."

"And?" Malcolm rotated the knife.

"That's it. That's all I know, honestly." It wasn't much to work with, but he was confident that he could find out some very useful information from Natalie indeed.

****

The meal was an uncomfortable affair for the vast majority of the guests because even though the food was delicious they were expected to make polite conversation about the premier of this gross PR exercise they had been summoned to bear witness to. Straight after desert Glenn and Robyn had made a bid for freedom and, much to Ollie's amusement, left together. A short while later Nicola had actually muttered '_Thank God'_ when her husband phoned to say there had been a family emergency, leaving Malcolm and Ollie sitting together. Malcolm was eating the best parts of the cheeseboard and letting Ollie's nervous rambling wash in one ear and out of the other until finally something was said that caught his attention.

"Oh shit- we have company." In the eyes of many Natalie had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire when she extracted herself from a conversation with Julius and sat at the nearest table hidden from view; the table occupied by Malcolm Tucker. "Natalie- please sit down. It's great seeing you again. Have some cheese. Have you lost weight? You're looking very well tonight, not that you don't always look great." With a clatter Malcolm dropped the cheese knife and turned his bollocking face on Ollie.

"You _are_ trying to pump me for information. I'm disappointed Malcolm; I've heard so much about you but nobody said anything about you being predictable." Her eyes sparkled with barely concealed mirth as he struggled not to unleash his anger.

"Natalie, don't be silly. I wouldn't do anything like that, would I Ollie?"

"Save it." She didn't appear to object to his attempted duplicity as she helped herself to the last of the wine, leaving Malcolm seconds to work out how to play this. Natalie wasn't stupid, that much was clear, so he could come clean. She would either respond well to this or everything would go up in smoke.

"Well, seeing as you to know one another so well I'm going to give Emma a text and see if she needs anything." It was cruel, but it was also entertaining to cast doubt on the legitimacy of his claim.

"Emma's at the cinema so her phone's going to be switched off for another hour at least. Why don't you stay with us and chat?" It was with mild interest that Malcolm observed the exchange.

"I- I'll try anyway."He stood and slid into the crowd without a backwards glance.

"Dance with me? I'm not one for the Oxbridge fucking pleasantries, but it... what?" Natalie shook her head with a pitying smile.

"I know exactly what you're trying to do. I came to say thank you for earlier before you prove me right and try to get in my pants, wheedle something out of me about Peter or feed me some false information about _DoSaC_."

"You're right. That was the master plan." No swearing, not theatrics and no lies, all of which he was renowned for.

"Excuse me?"

"Apart from the bit about getting in your knickers, although if you're up for it..."

"Are you being serious?" She looked at him incredulously.

"Deadly." The gamble would only pay off if he bided his time, and although he wasn't a patient man by nature Malcolm wasn't.

"I see." Natalie drained the last of her wine. "Then let's dance."

"Are you out of your fucking tree?" It was Malcolm's turn to be surprised. Never in a million years did he think she was going to sleep with him simply because he'd asked, or for any other reason.

"You asked me to dance and I said yes." The evening would be a complete waste of time if he didn't get some plan or another put into action, and this was legal whereas sticking a fork in Julius' eye wasn't. He stood and offered Natalie his hand wondering just what in the name of hell was happening. Clearly this could be capitalised upon.

Malcolm placed a hand on her back, thinking how pleasant the silk material felt, and they began to waltz in time to the music. Over the head of his latest conquest Stewart was giving her the strangest look, certainly not being '_down with the mellow vibe'_ or whatever catchphrase he was using at the moment.

"Why did you accept?" Natalie hesitated. "Come on- I told you why I asked."

"It's Phil. He was coming over to ask me to dance and I needed an escape route. I'm not planning on sleeping with you."

"You'd rather dance with me that Phil? Isn't he your boyfriend? Evening Tom." The Prime Minister nodded and raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of his intent.

"If I answer this then I get to ask you another question."

"You're bargaining with me even after all of the horrible things you've heard. I'm only going to accept because you have balls." As she laughed Malcolm knew that he had been right; honesty was the best policy with her until strategically he had to lie to her, but by then she wouldn't be expecting it.

"It's because Phil is a little bit too interested in me. I don't much care if you use that against him in some kind of campaign." She was slim, young and pretty so Malcolm didn't have much difficulty envisioning why he would be interested in Natalie.

"Ah... Now what are you going to ask me?"

"You didn't stipulate that I had to ask tonight."

"Are you sure that all of the funny looks you're being given are better than having lover boy's boner up against you?" It was true that other couples dancing as well as the people sitting around tables were looking in their direction, but Natalie only shook her head.

"Why is it so odd that Malcolm Tucker is dancing with a member of the opposition? After all, everyone knows that you're the man with the plan." They continued to sway, finding the night less unbearable than either had anticipated.

****

**Thanks for reading. Please review, otherwise Malcolm will be very unhappy indeed. **


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is dedicated to 'Tis the Fairy for being interested in my fic. I hope that you feel all of your generous words turn out to be accurate descriptions of this chapter as well.**

****

It was as though her brief contact with Malcolm Tucker, the government's Director of Communications, had infected the opposition's Natalie with some highly contagious disease. All morning people had been giving her pitying looks or avoiding her like she could simply drop dead at any time, and there was nothing else that could have triggered this behavioural pattern in the members of the opposition team. When she had arrived at work and switched on her laptop to work on Peter's blog update Natalie had expected to be given a respite from the strained atmosphere of the flat; Emma's weird looks, Phil's raised eyebrows and Ollie's mildly offensive sexual references. Instead it felt like her flatmates had started a trend for what was a vogue way to act in opposition HQ.

Her goal for this morning was to slander _DoSaC_ without sounding belligerent as she pointed out what a farce their latest initiative was. The content of the comments made by semi literates and pseudo intellectual political fanatics wasn't exactly a motivation to go softly and gently, but working towards a raise was. Emma was great fun and good at what she did but her neurotic tendencies were amplified by their close proximity and to salvage their friendship Natalie knew that they would need to move away from one another- the university stage of their lives was over. As for Phil it wouldn't matter if she never saw him again. He was like the mouldy cheese at the back of the fridge- for a time you ignored the smell and accepted it was there, but she had to clean it out now. The blog finished Natalie stood and carried her laptop through to Peter's office.

"Peter, how's this?" She deposited the small computer on his desk and rolled her eyes- nobody shared gossip with Peter, and he was about as clued in to interactions between the people around him as he was to the Top 40 chart yet even he was avoiding her eyes.

"Looks to be good, but... are you sure you haven't slipped anything in there that a certain Malcolm Tucker hasn't suggested?" Regardless of how depressing and stressful it could become, Natalie did love her job which was the only reason she didn't tell Peter Mannion MP, her boss, to go and stick his blog up his arse.

"Are you sure a certain Malcolm hasn't slipped something into her like the comments on your blog have suggested?" The mouldering Wensleydale peered around the doorway just long enough to sour the air. Phil wasn't her boss and so Natalie wasn't obliged to put a reign on her tongue when addressing him. She followed his sanctimonious face around the door and grabbed hold of his tie to prevent him from wriggling free as she confronted him.

"What the fuck has gotten into you, you wanker?" The open plan office went deathly quiet as people pretended not to listen to the unfolding drama. "At least I'm capable of writing the fucking blog without being sent death threats." Phil held up his hands, his smirk creating an impression of anything but innocence.

"I'm not saying anything anybody hasn't already said this morning." She glared at him, wanting nothing more than to pick up the stapler on a nearby desk and decorate his face.

"You're _taking_ the _piss_." But even as she whispered the words Natalie knew that Phil was right from the way a low buzz of chatter started up. "_For_ _fuck's sake_." Inhaling deeply she returned to Peter's desk, pretending that the past minute or so hadn't happened and that she had just arrived in his office. "Peter, this isn't the spy who fucked me- not that there was _any_ fucking involved- I am good at what I do. It's the same kind of stuff I write every five bloody days for your bloody blog and will keep on writing. And even if I did decide to fuck him, who's to say that I'm retarded enough to open my mouth- I'm a professional. I care about this job and this party. I'm not paid to write your blog and I'm certainly not paid enough to listen to this." She picked up her computer and returned to the cubicle that was supposed to be her own little vista of privacy.

"Hi, Natalie?"

"_What?_" It was Helen, the secretary who had never said a cross word to anyone in the time she had worked for the department. Immediately Natalie felt guilty. "I'm sorry. This is just going to be a long day."

"The materials you asked for from the shadow home office are here, and so are the reports from the immigration specialists." She deposited the folders onto Natalie's workspace before making a hasty exit. Natalie pushed off against the makeshift wall in order to shout after her retreating back and resolved to keep her cool.

"Thanks... Helen. Thank you." Rolling back over to investigate the new information that would help her to shape ideas for the immigration policy, Natalie was horrified when she read the red biro scrawl glaring up from an attached post-it_; CC Malcolm Tucker_. She ripped it off and, conscious of the numerous pairs of eyes on her back, taped the offending note to the wall of her cubicle.

"Now you don't need to rifle through my bin to see what it says." She crammed the files into her bag- there was no reason that she couldn't read them elsewhere- and shouldered it. Emma emerged from the board room just in time to catch sight of her friend leaving and ran after her.

"Natalie! Are you alright?" It was strange seeing Natalie, the composed one who never lost her head no matter what political crisis arose, so obviously distressed about something. However Malcolm Tucker had hurt her... Emma was going to do fuck all to him in reality, but a girl could dream. "What's he done?"

"Peter? Only question my judgement and ability to do this job. Don't even get me started on Phil."

"No, Malcolm. Ollie told me that you disappeared with him during the reception, and that you were dancing with him." Emma put a supportive hand on her arm. "Did anything happen between you two? We don't need to talk about it here- we can go for a coffee now."

"I'm sorry, have I stepped into some parallel universe where in the workplace we forego actual work in order to speculate? _Nothing_ happened. He was planning to use me to get some information, but he owned up when I caught him out. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to do some work. _Elsewhere_."

"Malcolm Tucker doesn't _confess_, Nat, not even if you get photographic evidence of his hand in the cookie jar. Something isn't right."

"Yeah, the way any contact with one of their lot contaminates me and not you. You're in a relationship with Ollie and information changes sides like water under a bridge, but the minute I bump into Malcolm Tucker at a party there's a scandal." There was no comeback from that point and so Emma could only watch in silence as Natalie left HQ. Stewart joined her by the window and after a brief time Natalie appeared beneath them amongst the pedestrians of Westminster.

"Thought shower with me- d'you think we're good enough to use her against Tucker?" Emma turned her head away.

Oblivious to the scrutiny she was under, Natalie navigated the pulmonary arteries of London until she reached the Starbucks she favoured. The food was wonderful and it was a far enough walk from HQ that there was little to no risk of having to spend her breaks listening to the fatuous remarks made by her colleagues. The rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other was the perfect way to calm down, and a cappuccino would give her the boost she needed to start working again. After putting in her order, Natalie went to sit on the squashy red sofa at the back and began to lay out her things. For the next couple of hours she analysed the pros and cons of previous Tory and Labour policies, listing them for easy reference.

****

"So remind me... why am I supposed to be wearing this obscenity?" Nicola stood in front of the full length mirror Terri had sourced for this very purpose- to view the outfits she would wear at important events and evaluate the image they sent out. The fashion consultant from hell, Malcolm Tucker sat perched on her desk stroking his chin.

"For several reasons; one, because I fucking say so, two I'll rip you a new one if you don't and three you're trying to look commanding _and_ accessible, someone the public can trust not to fuck this up and someone that looks like a human being." Nicola didn't think that many people would be able to relate to someone wearing a beige two piece suit, or expect them to say anything that wasn't completely monotonous.

"Isn't it a bit... brown?" Her only answer was the slam of the door to her office. Nicola sighed.

Malcolm had briefed her on what to say, how to say it and even what to wear so now he had to go and stop another leak from springing up elsewhere. He pulled his blackberry from his pocket and dialled Sam. "Get me a car, would you." Just as the call finished Ollie stepped into his path looking like a small child waiting to be given a telling off. Malcolm ignored him and continued walking towards the elevator; if whatever Ollie was going to say was important then he could grow the balls to say it or fuck off. Then again, it was doubtful that _DoSaC_ could fix anything without his assistance. In fact they'd probably make things worse. This department was the one stop fuck up shop.

"Malcolm. Can I ask you a question?" It was an obvious effort of will that Ollie followed him into the enclosed space and ignored the furious look on his face.

"Of course you _can_ ask me a question, in the same way I can stick your balls between the elevator doors and watch you writhe in agony before continuing on my merry fucking way. What is it?" Ollie hesitated, mulling over the dilemma of which was easier to look at, the real Malcolm or his reflection.

"Emma phoned me. She's really worried." The frown gracing Malcolm's real and reflected features quite clearly implied that the remainder of what Ollie had to say would have to be very fucking good news if he didn't want to be maimed. "Remember Natalie? What did you do to her last night?"

"What did _I_ do to her?" His voice was quiet and each word was enunciated with care. "Nothing."

"Right... only she's in Starbucks now because she's been driven out of the Deathstar by the other Storm troopers." Malcolm's sudden look of curiosity contradicted his denial- nothing interested Malcolm Tucker if it couldn't be used to his advantage. The elevator doors slid open and Malcolm strode into the foyer without a backwards glance. Ollie wondered how he was going to keep this from Emma. Then again, whatever plan Malcolm had formulated could take days, weeks or even months to come into fruition so he didn't need to worry just yet about the results of it. Already his thoughts had wandered back to antagonising Glenn.

****

It had taken a matter of minutes to reach the coffee shop by car and in that time Malcolm had formulated a plan of action, so it was with perfect ease that he ordered a coffee before he feigned surprise at the sight of Natalie pouring over a thick booklet. Although not as dressed up as she was last night, her tailored waist coat and shirt looked good on her, giving Malcolm reason to believe that cultivating this source of information wouldn't be as painful a process as it could have been.

"Natalie? Is that you there?" She looked up from the document, eyes widening almost imperceptibly as she saw him. "How are you?" He sat on the couch opposite to her, scanning the sea of paperwork littering the wooden table.

"I'm... fucking awful. You're right; I should have suffered in silence and danced with Phil."

"I've done wonders for your social life then. I did ask if you were sure you wanted to risk it." Malcolm's teasing smirk did nothing to improve upon her mood.

"Yeah, but I didn't know you were a leper as well as a psycho."

"I'm wounded, sweetheart. I am fucking devastated to hear you say that." Natalie shook her head and drank deeply from the cappuccino. Their conversation was interrupted as a Starbucks employee came over to deliver the coffee and Natalie cleared a space for the steaming mug. Malcolm glanced scornfully at the ample volume of whipped cream spilling from the top of the beverage before him. There was chocolate powder sprinkled in excess all over it, and a helping of marshmallows sticking out of the cream. It was the chocolate flake sticking out of the top that pushed Malcolm over the edge.

"Excuse me." The young blonde in the apron returned to the side of the table, her ready-to-serve smile in place. Malcolm read the name from her badge before continuing. "Excuse me, _Avril_, but I ordered coffee. _Black coffee_." Clearly not realising the danger she was in, the girl adopted a patronising tone and addressed Malcolm as though he were a halfwit.

"_That_ is a coffee." She gave a slight giggle when he continued to stare. Malcolm continued as though she hadn't spoken, wearing what was commonly referred to as his bollocking face.

"I'm sorry darling; it's just that I thought Starbucks sold coffee. That looks like a cross between fucking hot chocolate and a birthday cake baked by a spastic. It looks like My Little Pony took a shit." Natalie looked resolutely out of the window, hand over her mouth, and tried not to laugh at Malcolm's crude but accurate description of the toppings.

"Maybe you should speak to the manager."

"Or maybe you should get me another coffee- an _actual_ coffee; plain, black, no milk, no sugar and no fucking sweeties, d'you understand me?" Malcolm's voice had risen and the other people in the shop were looking at him with a curious blend of awe and disgust. Avril appeared to be close to tears. "If you bring me anything like this again I will grind your bones like coffee beans and use your fucking _entrails_ to decorate hot drinks."

"Malcolm, don't." He turned and shot Natalie a withering look before recalling the purpose of being in Starbucks with her. "Can you just go away please?"

"Excellent idea. Both of you out now before I call the police." In place of Avril stood a stocky older woman with a no-nonsense demeanour and a face like thunder.

"What? No, I'm not with him. He just appeared." The manager raised a sceptical eyebrow and Natalie was mortified; once again she was being associated with Malcolm Tucker and it had cost her a place of comfort. Starbucks had become her home away from home.

"He was with her," Sobbed Avril, "He came in and they were talking like friends."

"_Friends?!_ I met him fucking yesterday." _And already he's fucked up my life_ was the internal parenthesis. Seeing that she was fighting a losing battle, Natalie packed the assortment of paperwork into her bag and stormed from the small property. She marched along the pavement without any idea as to where she was going, trying valiantly not to cry.

"Natalie?" She stopped and when she located the source of the voice her face fell.

"Why are you following me? Fuck off Malcolm." It was astonishing that he could successfully command almost anyone in the world to fuck off and they would, yet he was incapable of following the orders he so often gave.

"You forgot this." He manoeuvred through the flow of pedestrians between them and held up her phone. Natalie took it and slipped the device into her pocket, wondering why he had bothered to come after her. "Listen, I'm really sorry."

"Why are you here? Once I might believe, but there is no way that _the_ Malcolm Tucker would ignore two opportunities to dig up dirt on the opposition." The streets were busy and Natalie wanted to go somewhere quiet to work out a plan.

"I'm not here for information. Let me take you for lunch and we'll talk about this some more, yeah?" There was nowhere else Natalie could think of to go, and she felt a tiny hint of curiosity about Malcolm's true intent towards her. Even if he wasn't going to tell her straight off then with a bit of effort his true motive could perhaps be discerned.

"Fine. If I stay with you I might get hit by a car or struck by lightning."

"Is it that bad?" Malcolm looked both incredulous and apologetic at once, and she didn't know what to make of it. They crossed the street in silence and Malcolm led the way towards a small seafood restaurant. As they were shown to a table Natalie began to doubt the wisdom of agreeing to lunch with the Director of Communications. Associating with him, however briefly, had cost her the respect of her colleagues and the virtually stress free safe haven that was Starbucks, and then there was the matter of him being a byword for espionage. Her phone beeped, announcing that she had a new text. Natalie's mouth pursed as she read the words, and she heard Emma's strident voice as though her friend was sitting directly across from her as opposed to Malcolm. She looked up and watched as he checked his own blackberry, not looking quite as calculated as he did tired. But looks could be deceiving.

"Who was texting you?" Natalie bit her lip and tugged at a strand of her hair, displaying the classic signs of someone hiding juicy information.

"I don't know if I should tell you." Malcolm kept his composure and tried to be casual.

"Of course you can. I promise I won't tell anybody."

"Then I can tell you; it was Emma apologising for telling Ollie that I was in Starbucks. She called you a devious bastard and told me that I should get a taxi back to the safety of HQ." She laughed as Malcolm attempted to conceal his disappointment. "Did you think I'd be _that_ easy? I'm not going to tell you anything that you could use against us." The waiter came to take their orders.

"I really am sorry Natalie; I didn't think that last night would have caused so much trouble for you." It was almost true, as well. As the opposition went he hated her the least out of any he had encountered so far. She was even less easy to despise than Nicola Murray.

"Yeah." He could see by the way her attention was returning to the Blackberry in her hands that Natalie wasn't buying it, and he couldn't blame her for that. It was time to up the game and inject just a little more honesty because that was what she seemed to respond to best.

"I'm serious. This, it becomes your fucking life and if you can't keep the pieces together you might as well be the fucking vegetable patient in the hospital, no sniffling visitors pretending to care and the only variation in your daily routine is shitting yourself every few hours. Better to be euthanized."

"You just called yourself a cunt and told me to kill myself. Tell me, do you always say things like that to women?" Although tempted, Malcolm refrained from giving a particularly offensive response.

"I said if you couldn't hack it you might as well. They wouldn't have given you to Mannion's PR to do if you weren't halfway decent."

"As far as he's concerned I'm damaged goods now. My judgement counts for less than nothing back at the ranch, and seeing as I came out for lunch with you after that I can see why. Rumours are everywhere! The stuff I had delivered this morning had a malicious little post it stuck on suggesting that a carbon copy should be sent to you." Natalie's voice wavered and she was glad to see the food arriving as it gave her an opportunity to compose herself without looking up at Malcolm Tucker.

"Thank you." He gave the waitress a genuine smile, expressing pleasure in the fact that his machinations were working already as opposed to the service he had been provided with. He had pulled a couple of strings to have the post it written, slipped a few choice words into the ears of those liable to share them and already the impact of his actions had proven to be fruitful. The most delicious part of it was that Natalie, as she sipped at her mineral water and began cutting at her salmon, was utterly ignorant of what he was doing. Watching a plan fold out as anticipated was one of the best feelings Malcolm had ever known. Several minutes had passed and Natalie no longer appeared to be on the brink of some kind of crisis, so he decided to try and rejuvenate conversation.

"Is the fish okay?" Natalie nodded.

"Cooked to perfection, just like poor Nicola will be after tomorrow's conference." Malcolm couldn't prevent the muscles around his mouth from slackening. It was a given than Nicola was going to fuck up somehow, spectacularly, but only he was supposed to know that and the more people other than him that knew what to look out for, the more difficult damage control would be.

"Not at all- she's going to be fine." Natalie raised an arched eyebrow but didn't press the subject.

"Maybe it would be better if we just didn't talk about work."

"Why don't we have a little fucking gossip then, talk about every insignificant detail of our lives."

"Point taken." They didn't speak again until the main course was finished, each thinking furiously. It would be a shame to use the prime candidate of the rainy day files they had on Mannion, especially with another fuck up á la _DoSaC_ just around the corner, but this plan of his would almost definitely work. Malcolm dropped his napkin on the table and asked the question he knew hadn't left Natalie's mind all morning.

"What are you going to do about Mannion then?" She grimaced slightly.

"What's it to you Malcolm?" He was grudgingly impressed by her restraint- most people would be begging him to use his influence to fix the problem. He ordered them two coffees as the waitress collected the used plates.

"Me? Oh, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I hadn't." He rolled his eyes and dropped the sarcastic tone. "Sweet fuck all, darling."

"Then why ask?"

"Because I can help you. Ask Mannion if claiming the expenses for his wife's birthday present was an accident." Natalie's eyes widened. There was no way to tell if Malcolm was being serious- nobody knew what was genuine, but everybody knew that his machinations were_ always_ calculated with the utmost care. She watched as he pulled a slim manila envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the table.

"_Blackmail Peter_?!" Malcolm stared incredulously at the obvious distaste she had for his solution. "I'm supposed to help him, not Blackmail him." He watched intently as she pulled the documents free and read them, the cogs in her mind so obviously turning.

"Fine, have it your way and throw everything down the shitter. _Let_ Mannion find some excuse to fire you, become that mediocre, boring vegetable- I think it's a cabbage because it's that fucking uninteresting- and who knows? Maybe a career outside of politics _could_ be fulfilling after all." By the time he had finished speaking Malcolm knew that she had come around to his way of thinking by the determined look towards the incriminating files.

"You're just going to let me take this; something you could use to your own advantage?" She wasn't daft, even if she had balked at an underhanded way of saving her own arse.

"I'm not asking you for anything. Besides, it's _Mannion_- that was just one, teeny tiny fuck up fish in an ocean." He saw the corner or her mouth twitch. Natalie was thankful that she didn't have to reply when the coffee arrived. After his first drink from the mug, on which he must have scalded himself, Malcolm looked more relaxed than she could recall seeing him previously.

"Better?" There was an almost predatory gleam in his eyes as he answered.

"Oh yes."

****

Natalie Ward slid from the taxi with an envelope clasped in one hand, her bag in the other, and strode purposefully into the opposition building. By the time she had made it up the flights of stairs she was certain that she could blackmail Peter Mannion into letting the whole incident with Malcolm fade into the background. Just thinking about it felt like kicking a dog; bumbling Peter who couldn't even stand up to Stewart being blackmailed of all things, and by her! Natalie knew that this time yesterday she couldn't have imagined doing anything of the sort, but this time yesterday she hadn't met Malcolm Tucker.

Upon her reappearance on their floor of the building she ignored the whispers of fellow employees and made her way directly into Peter's office, dumping her bag on top of her desk en route. A strange calm overtook her as she entered his office and shut the door behind her with an audible click.

"Hello Natalie, I've read the blog and it was perfectly serviceable but I'm afraid-" Peter cleared his throat, shuffling in his seat before continuing.

"Did your wife like the necklace?" He blinked owlishly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I should say so Peter- _four hundred and twenty nine_ pounds worth of taxpayers' money." Natalie withdrew the sheet of paper from the envelope, holding it just out of his grasp. Mannion's face turned ashen and she could see concern rising.

"E-Everyone does it."

"_Everyone_ isn't in with a chance of helping to run the country after the next general election. If I had to leave this office it isn't the kind of thing I could forget about because it really is interesting."

"What do you want?" Smiling at Peter, Natalie took the seat opposite to his.

"These things aren't that important, are they Peter? Some might call it irrelevant- almost as irrelevant as one Malcolm Tucker." He inhaled sharply.

"But how do I know I can trust that you aren't working for him?"

"Faith. Have a little faith. I'm going to finish working on the policies Stewart wanted outlined." Helpless, Mannion watched as she left the office. As she sat down at the desk she both loved and despised, Natalie felt the strangest urge to laugh.

"Shouldn't you be clearing your desk?" Phil peered around the corner of her cubicle looking more than slightly confused. Instead of preparing to leave, Natalie was settled in front of her computer and typing ideas that would appeal to traditional Tories and another for the new, Compassionate Conservatives.

"Why on earth would I do that?" Perplexed, Phil returned to his own cubicle. Malcolm had saved her job, which was wonderful, but she knew that he wanted something more.

****

**Please be kind enough to review if you read this. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you very much, 'Tis The Fairy, for your helpful review and I hope that this chapter lives up to your expectations. I'm dedicating this chapter to Rosslyn and JessTheGeek, two lovely reviewers. This chapter does focus a little less on humour, but there is some good plot progression and, as requested, more Stewart.**

****

Inside the conference hall Nicola Murray stood presiding over teams of journalists, camera crew and representatives from a variety of groups linked to the family unit in British society. She was announcing her initiative that would investigate how accurate the assumption the nuclear family was predominant and the ways in which family life would change in recent years. The Secretary of State was clearly at ill ease and stumbled over her wording several times during the first half hour minutes. Her eyes didn't even venture towards the seething Malcolm Tucker, standing at the back of the room, because she knew that he would be wearing his bollocking face and simply couldn't deal with it at the moment.

"And so with this information, the government will be well equipped to... better equipped to deal with the, um, the way in which families of all shapes and sizes can be taken into account in policy." The final slide on her presentation appeared belatedly on the screen as she clicked. It couldn't have gone worse and Malcolm knew that the opposition would pick up on the poor delivery of the initiative. "I'll take any questions you have now." Nicola gave a forced smile in an attempt to appear at ease, only highlighting her own discomfort. A couple of rows from the front, Angela Heaney raised her hand and Nicola indicated that she should speak.

"Secretary of State, you say that upon the conclusion of the report, which you predicted will conclude in ten months from now, the government will utilise the information gathered to better serve families in the form of policy?" Nicola nodded. "Are you certain that a Conservative government would do so? After all, if Labour are voted out at the next general election this could be a gross misuse of the taxpayers' money, something that should be considered carefully in this economic situation." The faux smile slipped from Nicola's face and her eyes darted towards Malcolm. Surely she saw that this was a good opportunity to dig a hole for the opposition- they would be hounded with allegations of being out of touch if they ignored the report. Several moments passed until he nodded slowly, fury etched onto his features due to the fact that several people had turned to note what the Secretary of State was staring at with such intent.

"No- I mean yes, we won't be wasting money and we will, of course we will stay in government." Angela Heaney smiled her inscrutable Mona Lisa smile, which didn't make Nicola feel any better about giving her an answer. There was nothing more to be done with Nicola for now and so he went out to wait for her in the car. The question and answer session continued for another tense ten minutes during which time Malcolm had plenty of time to consider everything that the minister had done wrongly, in particular drawing attention to him. He didn't turn around as she got in and fastened her seatbelt.

"Malcolm, I don't think it's that bad, do you?" He ceased filing through his blackberry and considered this point.

"You know, when little kiddies with fucking AIDS or cancer come out with something like that it would warm my fucking heart, if I had one, but when you say that it just makes me realise how much of a fucking disgrace your are when it comes to this job." Why the hell did he even bother? The remainder of the journey passed in something close to silence, Nicola's infrequent sniffing the only noise in the car.

****

Despite the scandal that had surrounded her less than twenty four hours ago, Natalie Ward sat relaxed at her desk and had just emailed Peter his suitably scathing response to Nicola Murray's press conference when her phone rang. An unknown number was flashing on the screen. Quickly putting her laptop into hibernation, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello darling, did you miss me?" An increasingly familiar Scottish accent made its way into her ear. Although she knew logically that nobody else could hear his voice, Natalie was extremely wary about her recent infamy being rekindled, especially if she was seen talking to Malcolm Tucker inside the office.

"_You!_ How did you get my number?" Laughter sounded on the other end of the line. "I'm going to kill Ollie." As though making good on her threat, Natalie began to make her way outside- it didn't feel right talking to the government's spin doctor within the sanctity of opposition walls.

"However much as I'd love to see Harry Potter, without the fucking special powers and female fan club mind you, getting eviscerated, I feel I should tell you that the blame lies solely with your lovely, paranoid self." Natalie could have kicked herself for giving him access to her blackberry; there was no telling what he could have found if he had her phone number. She was reminded that one must _always_ be on guard with Malcolm Tucker.

"That wasn't bad insofar as backhanded compliments go, particularly not from you. What do you want now?" There was no question that he did want something.

"You watched all of the conference, I presume? Of course you did; it's like a fucking stuttering car accident; you can't _not_ look at it." Natalie nearly fell headfirst down the stairs in shock; the government's spin doctor was admitting imperfection to a member of the opposite camp. Such an admission was surely calculated.

"A- Are you sure you should be telling me this?" Malcolm gave an audible sigh, perhaps exasperated by the delicate attempt to remind him where they stood, and perhaps because he was tired with _DoSaC_.

"Listen, could you be an absolute fucking angel and not draw to much attention to it?"

"There's about as much chance of that as an altar boy surviving a night unmolested in the Vatican." Waiting for an angry string of expletives and a dialling tone, Natalie wandered aimlessly around the pavement.

"Should've known, eh?" Still he didn't hang up.

"Yeah..." This was the most disquieting call she had since the last time her mother had phoned and asked about her lack of social life and the soul destroying nature of politics.

"Well you're just as talkative as a fucking dead parrot."

"I'm... sorry?" Why was he still speaking to her? It was so bizarre that it might just fall in line with reality.

"How are things in die Fuhrer bunker?"

"Well, I followed your advice and everything seems to be back to normal... how's your day going?" There was surely no harm in considering this performance of stilted semi-politeness. After a moment's hesitation she decided against asking if he had managed to escape the eyes of the media and ignored the beginnings of guilt. Unlike Malcolm, she didn't have the power to help.

"Fanfuckingtastic. Soon I'm going to have to pack my factor fifty hack repellent lotion and swimming trunks for Eastbourne." Considering the amount of strain Malcolm would be under to ensure that the massive PR exercise was a success, Natalie realised, the distinct lack of enthusiasm he displayed was only to be expected. Keeping an entire cabinet of MPs in the clear would take more finesse and strength of will than she could imagine any human being capable of maintaining on a daily basis.

"Can I ask why you're having the party conference there?"

"Truthfully I haven't a fucking clue seeing as it's about as fashionable as deciding to black up in the middle of fucking Harlem. Listen, I'm glad everything's sorted, okay? We'll talk later." The line went dead. Natalie gave her phone a bemused look before pocketing it and returning to the office.

****

"'Yes _Minister at Westminster'_- that's from the Guardian, '_Help Me, You Tucker'_- the Sun, surprisingly, '_Murray Reveals Lack of Initiative'_, the Times are actually pretty good at this, and from the Daily Telegraph we have '_Minister_-'" Ollie tossed the evening papers onto Nicola's desk one by one and she closed her eyes, interrupting his spiel.

"This isn't the time, Ollie. Tomorrow Malcolm is going to slaughter me slowly and painfully and I'd just like to go home and enjoy my last day on earth with my unsupportive fucking family." Watching Nicola looking so defeated Ollie felt slightly sheepish. He decided to attempt to offer some form of comfort in order to ingratiate himself with the minister.

"Right... would you- would you like a lemon zinger, Nicola?" She gave no response.

"Okay..." Ollie left the small office as quickly as he could without appearing to break into a run. He rounded the corner and headed towards the coffee machine only to see Malcolm Tucker drinking from a steaming polyester cup. "Hello Malcolm, seen the papers yet?" Ollie winced only slightly as he caught the brunt of the Scotsman's glare. "Stupid question."

"Never mind stupid fucking questions, what about well and truly fucking stupid answers?" More irate than usual, Malcolm stormed over towards the minister's office. "What is this, fucking minister protection services? She's getting a royal bollocking whether you like it or not, Glenn, so get out of my fucking way before I ram the evening papers so far down your throat that you'll be shitting headlines." Nicola appeared behind her defender, placing a pacifying hand on Glenn's shoulder.

"Malcolm is all this _really_ necessary, only I-" Ollie almost jumped out of his skin as Malcolm interrupted her.

"YES! All this is absolutely fucking necessary when you manage to stutter and stammer your way on to the fucking _front page_ and drag my name up there with it. Congratulations, Nicola, because now the whole of Great Britain knows that without me you're about as much use as an insensitive, retarded Councillor Troi aboard the political equivalent of the USS Fucking Enterprise." Glenn decided to give in and wisely stepped out of Malcolm's way.

"Why is this _my_ fault? You're the one that insisted on coming along in the first place." Malcolm's eyes widened, giving him the appearance of being mentally deranged to the point of borderline psychotic. He struggled to process what Nicola was suggesting due to the magnitude of his fury.

"_My_ fault- MY FUCKING FAULT? No, you were not supposed to look in my fucking direction, you were supposed to fucking... pretend I didn't exist for about an hour, which by the way I know is one of your dearest wishes so why you failed to do something so obvious, so simple, is beyond me." Shaking his head as though he could banish the seed of doubt Nicola had planted, Malcolm continued. "_You_ are supposed to understand everything you announced, because the general public so foolishly believe that you are the brains behind this despite the fact that a fucking paraplegic sloth is probably quicker than you are." The minister looked crestfallen, and as he opened his mouth to continue reprimanding her, the realisation that his name could have remained out of the spotlight with just a little foresight on his part hit Malcolm like a tonne weight. As the realisation that he had screwed up dawned, the stream of insults died on the tip of his tongue. Wordlessly Malcolm turned and made his way towards the stairs, leaving a shocked silence in his wake.

****

Life continued and after a couple of weeks, Malcolm ceased to second guess his every move and accepted his mistake as a one off. Nobody from _DoSaC_ felt the slightest urge to rock the boat by mentioning it, and so the incident passed without further mention. The party conference passed with a million little problems, none of which surfaced thanks to a Herculean effort on Malcolm's part along with a series of threats, lies and machinations that would have made Machiavelli proud. Only once did he snap and punch Glenn on the face, but even that was better than any of his charges making any fuck ups.

After the conference passed Malcolm was more than happy to return home, albeit only for six hours of sleep, a shower and a change of clothes before leaving for Number 10. There was something cathartic about returning to the advancement of numerous plots and intrigues. After a morning spent in a meeting with Tom and then setting things straight at the Home Office, in other words putting the fear of God into the minister that was rumoured to be planning a leadership bid, Malcolm decided to go out and continue cultivating his latest insurance policy. He filed through the contacts on his Blackberry.

"Hello, Natalie?" There was a pause during which he imagined her greenish eyes widening in surprise as she tried to think of something to say. "I told you we'd speak again."

"Yes, well there was no way of telling if you actually meant it."

"Are your lot prepared for the conference?"

"Of course we are after your performance- as an aide I don't want things to get all rushed and stressful for my superiors because I'd rather avoid being hit." Malcolm grimaced as he was reminded of his spectacular lapse in self control.

"You can't prove _anything_."

"There's no smoke without fire." He bit back the acerbic reply on the tip of his tongue and ignored her impish teasing tone, remembering just how useful Natalie would be to him. She laughed without a hint of the sneer Malcolm knew he would be giving, were their situations reversed. "My God, you really did hit him; I hadn't believed it at first. What happened?"

"Do you really want to know?" There was a moment's confused hesitation before she answered.

"Well, yeah." Malcolm had a surprising impulse which he decided to follow- such inclinations were invariably a gamble, but paid off spectacularly more often than not.

"Then have dinner with me when you get back from Brighton, and I'll tell you everything." The words had left his mouth half processed, and the sense of frustration was almost a taste in his mouth.

"Malcolm, I- I just can't." The Insurance Policy sounded flustered, as though the suggestion had gotten under her skin. He knew that this could either be very good or truly dreadful, and that the stakes had just been raised. It was exactly the response he had expected but Malcolm knew he could change her mind with relative ease.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because... because I..." Natalie sighed. "Malcolm is this dinner as in _dinner_ of is it _just_ dinner?"

"It sounds like you've been spending too much time with that mincing fuck Stewart." It wasn't going to be difficult for her to believe that it wasn't a romantic request, all things given, nor that he was ignorant of the significance of _dinner_ style dinner. "Trust me, after a couple of days running around after Mannion you'll need something to look forward to. I was thinking Chinese, but if you'd prefer something else..."

"Alright then." He couldn't suppress a smile as everything fell into place. "This is a terrible idea, but if it's anything like last year's party conference then dinner with you will probably be a welcome distraction."

"Good luck out there. Keep Peter on a short leash, yeah? What with all the queers there he'll be more excited than a blind man in a fucking fish market."

"Lovely analogy... Bye." Malcolm's feeling of immense satisfaction at a job well done drained as he registered the caller ID on his ringing blackberry: _Fatty_. It was going to be a long day, but then every day was.

****

It was with more attention than he would ever usually have done so that Malcolm watched the Shadow Social Affairs speech, and he had to concede that it was slightly less awful than he had anticipated. It was a shame that the girl whose career he was probably going to bomb in the event of his own ever needing a boost was actually competent, which was more than could be said for quite a few advisors on both sides of the divide. Still, until it was curtains for Natalie he could enjoy her. No longer did Malcolm entertain any delusions about it- she was perfectly lovely and he could use her in more than one way. For whatever reasoning the girl had agreed to have dinner with him, and that in his view made her perfectly fair game for anyone cunning enough to take advantage.

"Sam," he called through the double doors, "Sam could you get me the number for a Chinese? A good one, mind you- I don't really fancy eating the fucking dog's bollocks." Used to his unusual requests, Sam answered with something that he took to be assent, and sure enough after a few minutes a box appeared on the screen of his desktop announcing that he had a new email. Listed were four Chinese restaurants within minutes of his house, all of which had good reviews that his PA had quoted in the message. Malcolm minimised the draft of Tom's speech that he was looking over and considered- he hadn't specified the area he wanted the food from, and Sam had made a reasonable assumption in selecting shops so close to his home. It hadn't been part of the plan to bring Natalie to his place, but giving her a glimpse into his life could work to his advantage.

****

"What was the point of this conference?" Stewart paced leisurely across the carpeted floor of Peter's hotel room and waited for his audience to answer. After days of his mind numbing talks on synergy and the culmination of her visit to Brighton, Peter's speech, Natalie was beginning to ask herself the same question. "I want each of you to close your eyes and think about whether or not you've achieved the goals you set yourself when we arrived."

"Are you- are you being serious, Stewart?" Peter was wearing his slightly confused expression that reminded her vaguely of a severely depressed Eeyore. Stewart inhaled deeply before answering the member of the shadow cabinet.

"Peter, we agreed that this was an opportunity for you to connect with the general public and for you to continue to do that successfully, you need to give me positive energy. I'm currently feeling a lot of negative energy from you, and if you don't change your attitude then I'm going to have to start a team building exercise, an-"The threat of another space hopper race or something equally beneath his dignity was enough to spur the one time cabinet minister into gear.

"Alright, alright." Peter clenched his eyes closed and Phil followed suit, adopting a similarly tense pose in a subconscious effort to mimic his idol. Emma rolled her eyes before shutting them and finally Natalie followed suit, shifting to get comfortable- they were going to be here for a long time. "That's good, Natalie. I'm loving the Buddha positioning." After a moment it occurred to her that Stewart was referring to her crossed legs and she resisted the petulant temptation to alter their position. Phil coughed. Someone scratched.

"And chillax. Peter, what was this conference to you?"

"Erm...a way to put myself back in the public eye" He tried to give a discreet look to Emma as though to ask if this was the kind of answer Stewart wanted.

"Peter, are you trying to highlight your own emotional ignorance?" The advisor was met with blank stares from his colleagues. The connection between emotion and relevance in politics wasn't one that she could make with ease, but Stewart looked completely shocked by the apparently controversial statement.

"What?" Emma looked as baffled as Natalie felt.

"I'm sorry Stewart, but I don't quite follow what you mean." Instead of watching Peter struggle, Natalie picked at a loose thread at the duvet and tried to think of what else her boss could do to connect with a modern audience.

"As a minister you should be an emotionally intelligent man, now please try and act like it." She gave a delicate shrug as Mannion looked to her for help, and Phil simply shook his head when their boss turned to look at him. "Do you actually look up any of the links I send you, any of you?" The silence answered for them. "Peter, what personal goal have you set for yourself?"

"This conference I would have liked to reassert my relevance in daily politics and I feel that I have done so to some degree." Stewart nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin.

"Emotionally you are mensa, Peter. Humble as well as hopeful- just what we need."

"Thank you Stewart, and now that we've.... bonded over the conference," the strategic use of a buzzword to make Stewart more receptive to his message reminded Natalie that Peter was a politician, "I think it would be a good idea for us to see how the press received my speech, don't you?" Phil made a dive for the remote controller of the television.

"I'll just go and get my laptop." Seeing a window of opportunity open, Natalie sprung from the bed and moved out of the room before Stewart could object. She walked to her room at a perfectly relaxed pace and sifted through the inbox of her phone. Tapping her painted nails against the buttons she replied to Emma's '_How shit do you think this will turn out?_' and almost dropped the phone as she saw that there was a text from Malcolm Tucker. There was an address, presumably the restaurant he was planning on taking her to, and a time, 7 p.m.

Ever since he had invited her out for dinner she had felt mildly dazed- dinner with Malcolm Tucker was not an every day occurance. He hadn't specified what kind of dinner it was, but it was a combination of curiosity and a rare display of capriciousness that motivated her to reply back and confirm. What were they going to talk about over dinner? They worked for different parties, had different ideals and there was a generational gap the size of the Grand Canyon. Despite this, Natalie couldn't help but anticipate a break from Stewart's endless pep talks and Peter's inability to actually do anything without a hand holding. Shaking her head, she slid the electronic key past the receptor and glided into her hotel room, determined to stop thinking about her plans for the evening.

****

The speech had been well received in comparison to Nicola Murray's, and that was the only thing that mattered in politics. All during the train ride home she watched the responses from the main news channels and checked the comments on Peter's site to gauge where he stood with the general public. Every so often her mind would wander to Malcolm Tucker and she would try yet again to fathom his indecipherable motive for asking her to dinner. It seemed surreal that once her train reached the station she would be getting a taxi to wherever it was they were going to eat and spending her evening with the government's safety raft. It wouldn't matter if anybody heard about this because nobody would believe it; Malcolm was legendary for his aggressive behaviour and intense loyalty to the government he served- social niceties were not something anybody could imagine him caring about, and spending his free time with an employee of the opposition, the enemy camp, was more ludicrous still.

The train ground to a halt and Natalie pulled the handle up from her little suitcase, moving out onto the platform. She was rejuvenated by the fresh air rippling past as the train pulled away and she headed for the taxi rank. Opening the door to the nearest one, Natalie slid into the passenger seat and rested the travel case across her lap as she gave the address to her flat.

"Back from a trip somewhere?"

"Brighton. It was alright." The remainder of the journey passed in silence broken only by the light background music and chatter of BBC Radio 2. "Can you wait here while I put this inside?" The cabbie nodded and she climbed out onto the pavement, running up the stairs. Keeping a taxi downstairs was an extravagance Natalie wasn't used to, and it was partly in her excitement to be back at the flat, and partly because she was conscious of the meter raising the price of her journey. With a familiar click the door unlocked and the quiet inside her home let Natalie know that Phil and Emma still hadn't made it back. Being alone, completely without company, had become almost a luxury after spending the last year of her life almost constantly surrounded by people. She dumped the case on the floor of her bedroom and as she started back towards the door caught sight of her wardrobe, left ajar from the hasty packing for Brighton.

Before she had time to process the action, Natalie had slipped out of her tailored suit to replace it with a pair of jeans and a smart casual top, impulsively reaching back to release her hair from the comb that was causing the beginnings of a headache. As she caught sight of herself in the mirror, dressed as she would be for any outing with friends, it occurred to Malcolm would think she had made an effort for him. She almost laughed aloud, banishing the thought and then froze, realising that the taxi was still waiting. Never before, even on the days it had looked as though she was going to be late for work, had Natalie made it down the stairs so quickly.

"Going somewhere nice?" She relayed the address given in the text message.

"I'm going for Chinese." The driver caught sight of her applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the rear view mirror.

"With a friend, or..." Natalie snorted.

"Just a friend, and barely even that." The taxi slowed, but all that she could see on the street they were on was a row of nice looking houses on each side fronted by gardens. "Why are you stopping here?"

"This is it, see?" He gestured towards the house they were parked in front of and sure enough it was the right house number. Natalie reached into her purse and handed over enough money to cover her fare. "Have a good time."

Clutching her purse, she stood and exited the taxi, night air cool around her. She couldn't help but look back as it pulled off. Her only option now was to investigate the house, which was most definitely not a Chinese restaurant. Had Malcolm sent her on a fool's errand? The thought filled her with rage, and so it was that Natalie pulled back the gate with slightly more force than necessary and made her way along the garden path leading up to the front door. Before she could knock the door, it swung open to reveal Malcolm Tucker, and her poised fist fell limply to her side.

"Natalie, I was beginning to wonder if you couldn't find the fucking place, come in." He stood back and allowed her entry to what she now realised to be his house.

"What's going on, Malcolm? You said we were going to meet at a Chinese." He raised his eyebrows and looked at her, still stood on the doorstep, as though she was a confused elderly relative.

"I asked you to have dinner with me, but I didn't specify where. You agreed anyway." Malcolm placed a hand on her arm and gently pulled her inside, closing the door behind her. Still bewildered, she didn't resist. "Now you're here we might as well make a fucking start on dinner, eh? It got here a few minutes before you." He disappeared down the landing and into another room, voice drifting along the corridor. The thought that she was standing in the home of _the_ Malcolm Tucker was simply too strange for her to process. Moments later he reappeared in the doorway. "You coming or what?" Her legs obeyed the government's main strategist and Natalie followed him into the living room. As though waiting for someone to jump out and shout '_April Fool!_' she stood by the bookcase covering the wall and took in the broad range of titles in the vast collection, eying the tasteful decor and variety of sculptures. A Rolling Stones CD played in the background.

"Alright, this may leave your arteries as furry as the fucking hybrid offspring of a bearded homeless man and his dog, but I have it on good authority that it's going to taste fantastic." She trailed after the sound of his voice and followed Malcolm through the kitchen into what she now saw to be a dining room. He set two final plates of steaming, greasy Chinese food between the two set places. Natalie sat opposite him and watched as Malcolm forked steaming noodles, rice, spring rolls and the traditional Oriental delicacy of deep fried chips onto his plate. With incredible restraint Natalie nibbled on a prawn cracker and tried to make sense of her current surroundings. "It would have been really fucking impressive if I'd cooked all this, but then you'd have to check it for poison." She ceased chewing, feeling slightly queasy. Malcolm laughed uproariously at her shocked expression and she spooned some of each dish onto her plate, feeling slightly foolish. The familiar greasy taste of chow mein noodles was comforting, and after a couple of mouthfuls she felt calm enough to speak.

"So, why did you hit Glenn?" Malcolm's hand paused midway to the sweet and sour sauce, and the look that he gave her reminded Natalie that she'd stepped into the lion's den.

"Julie Price." So it _had_ been her.

"What, did the pair of you get lonely or something? Decide that what happens in Eastbourne stays in Eastbourne?"

"Have you seen her? She looks like she's been beaten half to death with the ugly stick then had it shoved right up her arse. I can do a bit better that that thank you, darling." Natalie shot him a challenging look as if to answer '_if you say so'_, but it faded as she recalled the "dinner" issue.

"You know that this doesn't mean anything, right? It's just dinner." He frowned and ran a finger around the rim of his glass.

"You... you think I'm trying to pick you up?" His eyes were unreadable.

"Well, what are you doing then?" Both of them successfully evaded giving a direct answer.

"Have dinner. Meet someone I don't find completely fucking despicable, which in case you haven't noticed can be pretty difficult in this line of work." It actually did seem like a plausible explanation- it wasn't only Malcolm who was frustrated by the incompetence of those around him. The amount of time Natalie found herself spending with people she couldn't stand was a sobering thought to her.

"So I'm only marginally despicable then- good to know, I suppose. Now why did you two fight over Julie Price?"

"Tom needed something for his speech."

"Tom... As in Tom Davis- the _Prime Minister_?" Malcolm fixed her with the most withering glance he could muster whilst attempting to fill a prawn cracker with rice. Nothing had prepared him for how green, how fresh to the whole thing Natalie was.

"No, Tom the fucking friendly neighbourhood child molester."

"Point taken. I just... didn't expect you to call him Tom. He's the Prime Minister."

"Christ, and what do you call the leader of your party?"

"God, usually. Sometimes Yahweh- that's just for a bit of variation. But he doesn't associate with the lowly minions like me. I reckon I need to make it to at least Stewart's level before that happens."

"No. For starters you're too fucking posh to pull off being a hippie."

"Thanks, Malcolm."

"Well _you are_."

"Is that what tips the scales and puts me in the outer fringes of Camp Despicable, then?"

"Maybe." They finished the meal without further discussion. "Will you stay for coffee?" Natalie considered the wisdom of his offer. She was surprisingly relaxed with Malcolm, which was slightly disconcerting, and there was no way she could afford to let any information cross sides.

"I can't." The look Malcolm gave her suggested that he knew perfectly well why she was leaving and that he found it mildly amusing.

"Suit yourself. I'll phone you a taxi."

****

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is dedicated to Putrefaction. Thanks to everybody that has reviewed- it makes me ridiculously happy.**

****

She had eaten dinner with the enemy, visited the house of a man at the heart of British government, a man that's mission in life was to take down her party- the very thing that made her life fulfilling. It wasn't something that Natalie could afford to let herself think about, especially since she and Phil would be accompanying Peter to _DoSaC_ today in order to investigate the quality of the civil servants, and it was almost inevitable that they would run into Malcolm Tucker. Closing her eyes, Natalie pulled the feather pillow back over her head and attempted to fall asleep once more, but just as she began to drift off the alarm on her phone went off. This was _not_ going to be her day. Ignoring the desire to phone in sick and return to sleep, she pushed back the soft, warm duvet and climbed out of bed. If Natalie didn't shower before Emma then there would be no hot water left, and there was no way that she was going to leave the flat without being fortified by warm water.

Awakened by the glorious gift that was hot water, Natalie managed to dress herself smartly and apply a bit of make up before traipsing into the kitchen and helped herself to a slice of toast on the rack, most likely left for her by Emma. If there was one thing Natalie would miss about living in the flat it would be Emma's mothering; hangover cures, the constant supply of food and the nights spent drinking wine and bitching about every conceivable wrong in their lives were all golden. It was the way Phil walked around the flat in his tatty dressing gown and most likely unwashed boxers that reminded Natalie why it was so important that she leave. He sat beside her at the table and took the remaining slice of toast.

"Phil, you are not Hugh Hefner. Nobody wants to see you in a dressing gown and it would take a lot more than a mansion and the bank balance of Croesus to make a bunch of plastic pretty blonde girls want to sleep with you." He stopped buttering the toast and looked up in what Natalie could only assume was intended to be a suggestive manner.

"What about a not-so-plastic pretty brunette girl?"

"No Phil. I'm about as interested in you as I am in catching leprosy." She didn't have to lie- Phil was perhaps the most irksome person she had ever met.

"Oh that's right, I forgot- you're sleeping with Malcolm." Natalie quashed the urge to poke out Phil's eyes, the accusation making her feel an uncomfortable mixture of anger and worry. The sooner everybody forgot about it the better.

"No Phil, I'm not. Unlike you I'm capable of having meaningful relationships rather than the occasional, rare one night stand. Do you really think that anybody has a meaningful relationship with him; he's Malcolm Tucker?" There was a pause during which Phil desperately tried to come up with someone Malcolm Tucker could potentially not want to use or destroy for the welfare of the government. He failed. "Exactly." Luckily for Phil, he was saved from having to think up a witty reply because of the appearance of his arch nemesis- Ollie.

"What are you doing here, you twat?" As always, Phil was displeased to see Emma's boyfriend in his home and maintained the facade of surprise at his appearance- he would never admit that he was used to seeing Ollie around.

"Oh, what a devastating insult from Moby Dickhead, the penis brain extraordinaire- my heart bleeds." Ollie sat on Natalie's other side, making her feel that she was trapped and at risk of becoming infantile and stupid by osmosis. She tried to finish her coffee and toast and ignore the voices on either side of her which were getting continuously louder.

"Well if I'm Moby Dick then all you are is... is... Pip." It seemed that Phil hadn't read much Dickens.

"Pip isn't even in '_Moby Dick'_, you idiot." Ollie seemed to enjoy the opportunity to rub how well read he was in the faces of others, particularly Phil.

"You didn't specify that it could only be a reference to '_Moby Dick_' and I made the logical assumption that we were allowed to use more than one Dickens novel. That's like referring to Groucho Marx and then complaining when someone mentions communism." Ollie opened his mouth to retort but Natalie interjected before the argument could escalate.

"Firstly, shut the fuck up both of you. Phil, aside from a name there is no connection between Karl and Grouch Marx; one was a communist and the other was a comedian, therefore your point is void as that was a shit comparison. Secondly, it is too early in the morning for me to think about communists without wanting to bitch slap somebody." She didn't have to turn around to know that Ollie was smirking over her shoulder. "Ollie, you're closer so it might as well be you, and if you don't stop provoking Phil then you will _not_ be coming back to the flat because we will vote you out á la Big Brother."

"What have you done now, Ollie, and why aren't you guys dressed?" Emma appeared in the doorway fully prepared for a day of work, and it occurred to the two males that they should indeed get organised. This raised the problem of how to extract themselves from the conversation to put on clothes without appearing to be pussy whipped.

"Nothing... I was just waiting for... for Phil to finish eating so that-" Taking umbrage at being used by Ollie to get back into Emma's good books, Phil interrupted.

"No you weren't, you were-"

"You two are just like children, although kids don't have the secret urge to sodomise one another senseless. I'm going to work now, are you coming Nat?" She nodded and followed Emma from the flat, eager to avoid spending any more time with Phil and Ollie than was strictly necessary. They made their way downstairs in companionable silence, happy to be rid of the two males in the flat.

"I was wondering...." Emma looked reluctant to raise the subject, aware of how sensitive it was.

"Yeah?"

"About _DoSaC_ today- would you like me to go with Peter instead of you?" Natalie knew exactly why her friend had made the offer, but she wasn't willing to acknowledge Emma's reasoning- the less fuss was made over what hadn't actually happened between her and Malcolm, the sooner it would be forgotten.

"Why would I want you to do that? I know _DoSaC_ isn't anywhere special, but it isn't that bad." As a result of years of friendship Emma knew Natalie too well to be taken in by her faux nonchalance.

"Oh come on, even if you managed some kind of miracle by making it go away, whatever happened between you and Malcolm.... well, you can't be that happy about seeing him again." What was it about Malcolm Tucker that made people believe that he had an almost supernatural ability to use every situation to his advantage? He was good at his job and he was ruthless, but not a ninja or Spiderman- there was only so much he could do, wasn't there? For a second Natalie toyed with telling Emma bout dinner with Malcolm, but it felt wrong somehow.

"Nothing happened." Why was it that Emma didn't believe the truth?

"You know I won't judge you, Natalie. Everyone does something really stupid sometimes, but-"

"_Christ_ Emma, I told you than nothing happened and I'm not lying. I didn't sleep with Malcolm- I didn't divulge sensitive information or anything else for that matter, okay? I'll see you later." Using the natural advantage of having longer legs than Emma, she increased her pace and strode briskly through the crows of pedestrians, leaving her friend increasingly farther behind.

****

It was almost a relief to Natalie to leave Victoria Street and travel to _DoSaC_- almost, but not quite. Phil had ceased channelling the fused spirits of Stewart and some crazed old mathematician to make what he termed an "implementation matrix" and she "a complete waste of time" in order to join her and Peter, which was regretful but even with his company the trip was better than having to stay behind.

"Phil, what are you doing?" She hissed. "Trying to be a member of the older, duller spy kids? Can you please act like a human being, just for a little while?" Phil ceased cradling the phone to his ear and ended the call, favouring her with a dark look. Natalie smiled sweetly, resisting the temptation to leave the building and return to somewhere that Malcolm Tucker wouldn't be; she didn't know how she would cope with meeting him again in a professional environment after everything that had been said, and regretted her pride having prevented her from accepting Emma's offer. Right now he could be anywhere in the building, moving from office to office and psychologically damaging fully grown adults in the name of the government. She sighed- with the prospect of Malcolm appearing and Phil being... well, Phil, the day was going to be a difficult one.

Two flights of stairs up, Malcolm observed Peter Mannion and his acolytes entering the PFI building, unnoticed due to the way Terry's stalking was taking up the attention of the three Tories in the atrium. He had planned on being there to greet them, purely motivated by courtesy as opposed to the desire to maim the opposition, but had decided against it when he had seen who was with Peter. He had to admit that she had balls to show up, surely knowing that the building would begin to gossip about them both, and it seemed probable that the whole operation would run more smoothly if he didn't make a spectacle of Natalie and her colleagues. He decided to check up on Glenn and Ollie to make sure that they kept their mouths tightly shut.

It seemed that nobody was that enthusiastic about the Fourth Sector, judging by the conversation Glenn was having with the person on the other end of the phone and the satisfied _I-knew-this-was-a-bad-idea _sigh he gave upon returning the telephone to its cradle. As Malcolm approached the desk he saw something bizarre, and there wasn't much that shocked him. It occurred to Malcolm that Glenn may well manage to traumatise somebody more than he ever could, but the thought didn't bother him because this was above and beyond anything a completely heterosexual man would ever do. And it was counterproductive.

"Well, well, Fagneto here seems to be busy..." Malcolm ignored Glenn's pleading glance and shifted the strategically placed paperwork to uncover small pictured of Mannion's face, love hearts and a blue ring binder folder with the name '_Terry Coverley'_ inked along the spine. "Busy playing matchmaker, I see. _Has_ there been anyone since the divorce? Anyone female, that is?" Ollie coughed and it sounded suspiciously like the name _Robyn_. "_Shut it_ Pinnochio who will never be a real boy, and get back to work, the pair of you!" Just as he was about to leave to make sure that the department of education had a clue about what they were doing, Glenn dropped a bombshell.

"Malcolm..." He directed his bollocking face towards Glenn, not amused by the prospect of cleaning up yet another mess made by _DoSaC_. "There's something you should know about Nicola's daughter, Ella. She's going to be excluded for bullying."

_Shit._

****

They had spoken with _DoSaC_'s team of civil servants and during the meeting Terry had edged her chair progressively closer to Peter's- as a result the experience had been tense to say the least, and discussion had been brought to a close prematurely. Because of Peter's insecurities Natalie knew that she was going to have to email Robert King their agenda and bring him up to speed with everything. It was very frustrating considering she had taken a morning out of her schedule for the express purpose of making sure the civil service knew what to expect after the general election. She stood awkwardly with Peter beside the elevators.

"Natalie, what do you think about this whole thing with Nicola Murray's daughter bullying another child?" She ceased replying to Emma's text and looked up at her boss, one eyebrow raised. It was obvious that Peter wanted advice on whether he should go to the press or not, but he was going to have to work for it after he had doubted her because of Malcolm.

"It's a shame, I suppose, for Ella because she's unhappy at school and obviously for the other girl too." Peter frowned slightly, aware that she was intentionally avoiding answering the question he had wanted to ask but unable to call her on it.

"Yes, but I meant to ask what you think I should do about it."

"You want _my_ opinion? I thought that I was unreliable." There was something in Natalie's tone that he couldn't quite understand.

"No, no. You're perfectly stable, and the reason I'm asking you is because you never seem to lose sight of what's really important like Phil or Stewart do. You have principals." Natalie smiled and was pleased to know how much stock Peter put in her judgement.

"It's a very personal thing and I think it would be wrong for us to exploit that. And it would get us a lot of bad press for resorting to using a child against the government." For a moment Peter thought this over and Natalie waited to see how much weight she carried with him. The temptation presented itself with unexpected force.

"You're right. I can't believe that I ever considered doing anything like that for _DoSaC_ of all places. Thank you, Natalie." She nodded and finished her text message, hiding the delight caused by her influence. "Did you see the way that the useless one kept trying to propel herself onto my lap?"

"Peter really, what's the worst she could have done to you? I mean, from what I've heard she'd probably screw up her plans to kidnap you because _Holby City_ came on the television. Something would come up and distract her from organising a safe house." Peter failed to see the funny side of the situation entirely, and she couldn't help but pitying him for attracting only the most annoying of people.

"It wasn't funny. It wasn't you that Terry was molesting in her imagination- did you see the way she looked at me? I feel sullied. It's worse than going for a slash in the urinal next to Phil." The thought that she was a cover up for Phil's true interests made Natalie feel slightly less stressed about the potential appearance of Malcolm at any second and so took the sting from her response.

"Don't worry; we can bin her after the election, I suppose." As though summoned by the words of his idol and employer, Phil charged along the corridor looking as though he was being chased by some kind of phantom. _Malcolm_. Her heart lurched. Despite the panic eating away at her nerves, Natalie managed to joke at Phil's expense. "Oh, look what the bouncer from the local gay bar dragged in. I'm going to see Ollie and try doing a bit of detective work."

Natalie rounded the corner and, as she passed through the network of desks, began doubting the wisdom of her self-proclaimed recon mission, or even coming to _DoSaC_ in the first place. A man she identified as being Glenn by his apathetic facial expression and grey hair was sitting behind his desk and cutting something out from a sheet of card with a vigour that indicated it was unrelated to work. He looked up from what appeared to be a mask of Peter's face as Natalie's shadow landed across his desk. She wondered if she had entered the twilight zone.

"What the hell is that?" It was then she realised that Peter's fear of being dragged away and raped by the employees of _DoSaC_ wasn't unfounded. This was just plain creepy.

"Oh hello, I don't believe we've met before. I'm Glenn Cullen and I can only presume that you're one of Mannion's minions." Natalie smirked, the irony of the situation not lost on her as it was him.

"I'm not the one making a mask out of a picture of Peter's face. I knew things were bad at DoSaC, but _never_ in my wildest dreams could I have pictured anything so seriously fucked up. Are you trying to curry favour with him so that you can jump ship and keep your job after the election? I don't think that Peter wants to be gang raped, and so I'd try to control myself if I were you. It's Natalie Ward, by the way."

"_Ah_, Malcolm's latest conquest. Your distinct lack of manners explains what you two have in common." _Christ_, who hadn't heard about them being seen together? What was more, why did everyone assume she had slept with him? She wondered what Malcolm had been saying about her to his underlings and decided against seeing him again- it was career suicide. "And it isn't me that wants to make love to Mannion, just look at Terry's desk."

"Make love? What is this, _Mills and Boon_ in the Victorian era?" He ignored her jibe and scathing tone, gesturing towards the working area on his left. "Fucking hell..." Natalie knew that they were all morally lacking over here- they would have to be unscrupulous to work for the New Labour government- but she had never imagined anything as wrong as this. There were tiny little cut outs of Peter's face and pink love hearts attached to every available surface. "I don't know what to say Glenn, in fact I'm so freaked out that I'm just going to collect Peter and leave in the hope that we manage to make it out before we're jumped."

"And risk missing Malcolm? He'll be hurt. " The subject of Malcolm wasn't one that Natalie was ready to joke about quite yet. She was so worried about seeing him here that at first she assumed that it was a result of paranoia that made her believe Malcolm had just stepped from the minister's office, but when he marched straight towards her with a face like thunder, dashing all hopes she had of going unnoticed- _bugger_. He stopped just in front of her.

"What the fuck do you know about this?" It seemed likely that he was referring to the incident with Nicola Murray's daughter, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of an easy answer when he was being so rude. Glenn observed them both, most likely restraining himself from making a comment about sexual tension judging by the aplomb with which he returned to actual work as opposed to arts and crafts.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Malcolm looked left and right, his expression becoming particularly severe when he saw Terry within hearing distance. Firmly, yet with surprising gentleness he grasped Natalie's arm and pulled her towards the office, presumably his, with the glass walls covered in old newspapers. Malcolm's strides were so long that Natalie almost had to break into a run to keep up. He closed the door behind them.

"Nicola's daughter- what do you know, Natalie? You'd have to be _pretty fucking retarded_ to lie to me." He was absolutely furious about this, and it was obvious why nobody stood in his way for long.

"More than enough." Concentrating on appearing calm, Natalie checked her nails for ragged edges.

"You even think about leaking it and I'll-" Emboldened by the rage caused by Malcolm's insinuation, she interrupted him, talking over him when he attempted to regain control of the conversation.

"You don't know _anything_ about me, so don't presume that I'd try and use a story about a child for leverage." The intensity of her response surprised both of them. He was the first to recover.

"What?" It was only his absolute shock at what he had said that kept Malcolm from losing his temper after he was interrupted. He couldn't work out if she was serious or not and that deeply perturbed him.

"I don't want to leak the story; it'd be wrong." She didn't look away despite his scrutiny, so intense that the vein on his temple was throbbing.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"No. That's all I have to say on the matter."

"Are you for real?" She was sickening. Malcolm felt the kind of revulsion that he associated with fluffy bunnies and anal sex when he considered her high-ground morals. "_Jesus_, Natalie as much as I love the Nice-Girl act, this isn't playgroup; _this_ is fucking politics. Seeing as you're not long out of fucking nursery I thought you'd at least _recognise_ the fucking difference."

"Yes, that's great Malcolm. I'm leaving now." He didn't move away from the door, instead folding his arms and looking down at the angry brunette. "Leaving; as in _not_ staying."

"I'm sorry." And he did look genuinely apologetic.

"What?" Anyone who had heard the name Malcolm Tucker knew that remorse wasn't his thing. He was renowned for being ruthless in his attempts to gain the upper hand for the government, and it was assumed that due to its strength this characteristic remained the same in every aspect of his life.

"I'm sorry. It's just a bit fucking rare stepping onto the set of fucking Snow White and the British Government." From what she could see Malcolm had no reason to lie, and he did look remorseful, but surely he was an adept liar by now. "I'm meeting a friend of mine for drinks on Sunday and it would be nice if you could join us."

"No."

"Be at mine on Sunday, twelve o'clock." He was unfazed by her outright refusal, continuing as though it had never taken place.

"No, Malcolm." Natalie shook her head and made to leave again.

"I'll even buy you lunch." He smiled sardonically and there was nothing malicious in his eyes.

"The answer is still a firm and resounding no." But Malcolm was gone before her firm and resounding 'no' had passed into existence. He had left as soon as he had issued the invitation. Natalie leant against the wall, bashing her head against it rhythmically. "_Jesus. Fucking. Christ_."

****

"Are you going out somewhere?" Emma stood in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame clad in her soft white dressing gown and nursing a steaming mug of coffee. She looked slightly worse for wear after last night's trip to the local pub and Natalie had to admit that it was impressive that her friend had managed to leave bed after the amount of alcohol she had consumed the previous night.

"Yeah... I'm meeting a friend." Natalie ignored the way that Emma's eyebrows rose with a studied detachment as she applied a touch of lipstick to her mouth. She took in the appearance of her mirror reflection; the smart-yet-casual black flared skirt and the green peasant blouse a combination that was within the realms of everyday clothing yet high end enough to create a lasting impression, her artfully braided hair and her tastefully applied make up. It was a good look and Natalie knew it, but so too did Emma.

"Is it a date?" Natalie's eyes widened as she looked at Emma and started to laugh.

"Definitely not, no. I'm actually going to meet a couple of people there." Picking up her keys from the dresser, Natalie dropped them into her handbag and headed out of the room, pausing by Emma.

"Oh... Well if it does turn into something more then... good luck." Emma squeezed her arm before disappearing into the bathroom. It was a moment before Natalie managed to continue out the front door. She had made an effort with her appearance, but it didn't do to appear too slovenly and that most certainly didn't make it a date. Did it? But if one of Malcolm's friends was there then it couldn't be classified as a date. Natalie sighed in relief as she hailed a taxi, now slightly curious about the identity of this mystery person. For the duration of the journey she considered possible candidates that worked in the media or for the government, but each was crossed from her internal list as quickly as their name had been placed upon it.

_Why was she here?_ As she hopped out of the taxi Natalie questioned her own motive for accepting Malcolm's offer, which had really been more of a demand. He possessed a highly amusing if offensive sense of humour and had great taste in food, but beyond that there was no reason for her to want to spend time with him outside of a professional capacity. Malcolm could poison her career, but Natalie had no idea what she knew about that was important enough for him to want to discover. There was nothing immediately obvious for Malcolm to gain from sharing her company, but the plots of the spin doctor were never immediately obvious to anybody. Today she would be perfectly polite, making it clear that they couldn't see one another again before going home. She pressed the doorbell and didn't have to wait long for Malcolm to appear. Before he could speak a voice called out from behind.

"Those annoying cunts selling stuff appearing every single fucking day is the other thing I don't miss about living in London. I don't know how you manage, Malc, unless there are a few more bodies in the basement since I was last here." A younger man, smaller in stature than Malcolm but with a similar accent appeared in the doorway beside her host. "I'm sure what you're selling is fabulous sweet cheeks, especially if it happens to be yourself, but we're not interested." Natalie gasped sharply, but Malcolm intervened before she could retort.

"No Jamie, this isn't a fucking prostitute, this is _Natalie_. She's coming out with us today- remember I told you on the phone last night?" Malcolm watched openly as she struggled to regain her temper.

"Oh... _Hello Natalie_." She didn't return Jamie's sarcastic wave, narrowing her eyes slightly. "D'you know I wish you were a prostitute just so that I didn't have to know that you were one of those posh, artsy, afternoon-tea eating, bourgeoisie bohemian _fucks_ that works for the Tories- that aside we'll get on swimmingly." Leaving a flabbergasted Natalie stood on the doorstep, Jamie turned and walked back into the house.

"What the fuck was that, Malcolm?" She whispered aggressively, unwilling to make a scene in front of his neighbours. The look on his face told Natalie that he was amused by this.

"He just doesn't like meeting new people- fucking bad experience as a child, you know?" Malcolm looked at her as though he had made a casual remark about a television programme and was expecting a simple response.

"Uh... I see." Malcolm closed his eyes and sighed.

"Oh, Christ there's one born every fucking minute. He's from Motherwell, that's all. Come in." Bewildered, she followed Malcolm into the lounge and sat awkwardly on the sofa across from Jamie. Until now she hadn't imagined a situation during which she would long for the spin doctor's company, but as he went into the kitchen Natalie wished he could somehow distract Jamie, preventing twin holes from being burned through her skull by the intensity of his stare. The only sound was him crunching noisily on a mouthful of crisps taken from the bowl between them.

"So how did you meet Malcolm then, J- Jamie?" Natalie toyed with the folds of her skirt, more anxious to have something to do with her hands than for any real need. Until very recently it had been an innocent item of vintage clothing as opposed to a middle class anathema.

"Match dot fucking com." Natalie nodded a few times and didn't try to strike up a conversation again, resigning herself to an awkward silence. After what seemed like a lifetime Malcolm reappeared.

"Right, let's go. I could eat a fucking horse, and when I said that Natalie was going to be a part of our lunch date I didn't mean that we were going to shove her in my fucking oven. Besides, she's so small that she couldn't even be fucking classed as an appetizer." Both men began to laugh, but considering their reputation for being more than slightly psychopathic Natalie couldn't quite relax enough to join in. She remained quiet as they filed back out of Malcolm's home and listened to their conversation.

"So, how's Holyrood working out for you?" Jamie had gone to work at the Scottish government. There had been a lot of talk about his disappearance but nobody had ever confirmed where he had gone.

"Same useless cunts, but nicer scenery really- and less of that lot..." Jamie nodded towards Natalie indicating his disdain of her political beliefs. "It's not bad but it's like comparing a Nissan Maxima to a fucking Rolls Royce. They both work pretty much the same way, but a Royce has all the prestige."

"Are you all pugnacious, foul mouthed communists at the Scottish Parliament then?" The two men exchanged a look.

"She does have a pair then Malcolm, yeah I knew there must be something fucking interesting about Natalie wants-to-be Portman if the sex is good enough to put up with being seen in public with her: _a member of the fucking opposition_, you sly bastard." It was impossible to say whether or not Jamie was serious about his jibe. His smirk could be anywhere between teasing, impressed of disgusted.

"Slow down there, Speedy Gonfuckass. I cannot stress to you how _wrong_ that idea is. Natalie is not my bird." Malcolm frowned more deeply still when he caught sight of the knowing smirk his friend shot him, and was Jamie anyone else he would most likely have been trembling at the sight of the bollocking face. Instead he laughed, slapping Malcolm on the back.

"Seconded- I haven't got feelings for him, and by the way Malcolm I don't want to see you again after today." For the millionth time Natalie wondered just why it was that she had subjected herself to the unnecessary stress of seeing Malcolm. She followed his lead into a small pub and considered texting Emma for an escape route phone call.

"Right, whatever you two say. Mind you, you do make a pretty fucking cute united front if I don't think about, you know, your fronts being united." They sat around a table in the corner and read over the laminated menus. Natalie didn't have the energy to respond to the crude innuendo, and she missed the loaded look that Malcolm shot his friend. It was the look that he had worn when he had suggested Claire Ballentine for party leader; one of determination, one that spoke of a plan.

"First round's on me, so what can I get you?" Natalie regarded the two Scots, deciding that the quickest possible escape plan would be to buy her perfunctory round, eat lunch, make some polite chatter and leave for a fictional appointment for which she was already late.

"We have chivalry in Scotland you know, the same as we have fucking plumbing and- and the internet too- isn't that amazing?" As she looked at Jamie, Natalie wondered how any human being could be so singularly offensive. It must have been bad because Malcolm intervened.

"Just tell her whatever the fuck it is you want to drink, other than the blood of a fucking Englishman; we can't scare her too badly now. I'll have a beer."

"Please may I have the same?" Jamie turned to Malcolm, slightly surprised by the older man's expression. Standing, Natalie made her way through a throng of people and into the queue for the bar. Her frown denoted acute frustration.

"Play nice. She could actually be useful." Despite the loud chatter filling the pub, Malcolm leant closer to Jamie and lowered his tone as though afraid of being overheard.

"What, in the way that a fucking fork can be useful for eating soup? She is one of _them_, Malcolm, the scary fuckers that take away kids' milk and support the poll tax. She may look like a human being but really she's a fucking vampire with cold, blue blood. If you put a cross or any literature promoting inherttance tax against her skin, that Tory bitch _will_ sizzle."

"You're too old for this fucking '_Twilight_' crap." The lack of interest Malcolm expressed in his warning urged Jamie to continue. Malcolm had been alert to every possible danger to the party before he had left for Edinburgh.

"A girl with fangs and, and capitalist beliefs and a fucking poster of Margaret fucking Thatcher on her- on her bedroom wall where she can see it every night before-" There was only one person brave enough to interrupt Jamie, and having his judgement called into question the individual decided to use the privilege.

"A girl with information on the opposition, an inside scoop on whatever pies Mannion's lot have their dicks in. And she's not bad looking either, once you get over the accent." Malcolm couldn't help but laugh at the expression on Jamie's face. "Did I give you a fright there? Did you think I'd fucking gone soft?" Natalie returned with their drinks, unaware of the conversation that had taken place of her absence.

"Listen Natalie, we got off on the wrong foot earlier and I'm sorry about that." She nearly choked on her gin and tonic, but the resultant coughing fit delayed her response far less than her overwhelming shock. Looking between Malcolm and Jamie, she saw no hint of duplicity and the afternoon would be much more pleasant without the horrible tension that had hung between them earlier.

"That's- that's alright Jamie." Malcolm smiled almost imperceptibly before drinking from the pint glass, showing something that on anyone else would have been termed gratitude.

"Just look after the big guy here. If you don't then I'll kill you in your sleep." Natalie attempted to smile in return, too distracted by the open threat to refute the previous insinuation.

****

"So did you have an okay time today?" Jamie had left for his hotel room, and now they were walking aimlessly around London. Natalie was unwilling to examine why she hadn't headed home after they had eaten. It was one of the last truly nice days of the year, if a little chilly, and it was pleasant being out. Surprisingly Malcolm's presence didn't detract from the peaceful feeling that walking around the city usually created. His conversation was amusing, if a little cruel towards others, and it was rare to find someone else that seemed to enjoy manoeuvring their way through the crowds of pedestrians for the sake of the experience.

"Yes. Jamie was... everything I'd heard, yet not somehow. Rather like you I suppose." Natalie leant against the guard rail and looked down at the flowing Thames, watching the swirling patterns the currents made on the surface. Edging through the string of people navigating the pavement and stopping beside her, Malcolm decided that now was as good a stage as any to enter the next stage of his plan. He reached over placed a hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin under the loose cotton of her top. For a fraction of a second Natalie stiffened, moving with an awkwardness that denoted self consciousness before she settled.

"And how is that like me?" He watched the slight twitch of her mouth as it dawned on Natalie that he was flirting with her.

"You know your reputation. It isn't pretty; you're ambitious, devious and too clever by half at manipulating people. But you care about keeping the government in power. You're always loyal to the party, and no matter what tough decisions you have to make, you do it. Maybe that isn't a good thing." She stood straight up and Malcolm saw the opportunity slipping away from him. Impulsively he moved closer and kissed the corner of her mouth chastely before pulling away to witness her reaction. Confusion reigned, causing her delicate features to curl into a frown. She turned back towards the Thames as though the answers floated on its surface. This assertiveness was perfectly in character, and surely would alert her to the fact that something was amiss. Malcolm sighed heavily before breaking the silence.

"I'm sorry Natalie. I think I'll go." Not waiting for a response, he pivoted and headed back across the bridge, a knowing smile softening his features. Any second now she would tell him to come back.

"Malcolm, wait." A rapid pounding of heels on the concrete pavement confirmed his theory. He stopped and waited for her to catch up, schooling his face into a more sombre expression in a split second. "I..." Natalie moved her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to continue and unaware of the angry looking woman who cursed her. Placing a hand on the small of her back, Malcolm propelled her along the street until they reached a small secluded park that Natalie knew was relatively close to her flat. The lack of background noise intensified the feeling of awkwardness and Natalie fidgeted with the stitching on her skirt. Slightly annoyed by the action, Malcolm gripped her fingers in his. She looked up sharply.

"I really am sorry." The weight of his unknowable thoughts made the apology seem believable to Natalie.

"What for? It-" He cut her off with another swift kiss, this time lingering. She sighed softly as they broke apart, and Malcolm took this as his queue to continue, twining his free hand through her hair. As he inhaled her vanilla scent, it occurred to Malcolm that this was the most painless thing he had done to further his own career in a long time. After a few moments, Natalie turned her face away from him, flushed slightly red. "Malcolm, we can't." She placed a finger against his mouth and continued, obviously flustered. "You don't know me at all. Jamie's right; I do work for the opposition, and what's more I'm proud of it. Don't you find my conservatism off putting? My primary aim in all things is to overthrow the government and displace you. We're complete fucking opposites- we can't."

"I should completely despise you, with your fucking artsy clothes and fucking Nazi party membership, but I don't." And although his aim was to mould her into a potential safety net, Malcolm recognised a grain of truth in his own words. Natalie laughed, gently digging her elbow into his side.

"Was that your idea of a compliment? You've got a long way to go Malcolm."

"It was the truth." The amusement faded from her eyes as Natalie considered his words. Although they were not delivered with any embellishment, the lack of theatrics and swearing made her think about what he had actually said. She looked up at Malcolm to find that he was openly staring at her, flushed in embarrassment, and before she could look away he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her again.

"This doesn't make any sense." And it didn't. Natalie didn't understand why she continued to agree to Malcolm, or why she had enjoyed being kissed by him.

"Why should it?" He squeezed her fingers once more before dropping it and walking around the corner and out of her sight. Natalie examined her hand and marvelled over the feeling of warmth infusing it.

****

**Thanks for reading. Please review. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you very much to everyone who has taken the time to review. I appreciate it more than I can say!**

****

Attempting to focus on the policy plans that Stewart had returned for her to redraft, Natalie considered the pros and cons of being right or centre right on social issues when she thought of the kisses she had shared with Malcolm. It had been impossible to focus on anything other than her last meeting with him with the exception of work until now, and so she spent every possible moment of the previous fortnight working. Emma had expressed concern for her wellbeing and Stewart had suggested that she enjoy some "down time", but Natalie knew that if she thinking seriously about her feelings for Malcolm would be her undoing. Her phone started to ring, and for a split second she found herself hoping that it was the labour party spin doctor. She lifted it from her bag and answered.

"Hello?" She kept the disappointment from her voice after catching sight of Peter's caller ID, determined to cease thinking about Malcolm Tucker.

"Hi Natalie, you're sitting at your desk, yes?" She kicked the partition so that she wheeled backwards and waved at Peter, forcing herself to smile as he returned the gesture. "Well your enthusiasm is always appreciated, but I think it would be better if.... how did Stewart phrase it.... if you didn't burn out. So you can have tonight off; relax, listen to some Beethoven or... whatever young people like."

"Thank you, Peter." Although he was often incompetent to the extent that he created more work for her, and as a result got on her nerves, it was nice to know that her boss was concerned about her. "But I'd rather not."

"Why not?" Peter was bewildered by her unwillingness to accept the offer of some extra time off, but it wasn't as though she was in a position to tell the truth- _'sorry Peter, but I can't stop dreaming about the government's director of communications; you see, we kissed and I liked it' _wasn't an option. Natalie improvised.

"I enjoy my work and there's a lot of it to be done, therefore I'm happy to keep going." She suppressed the urge to roll back into the familiar confines of her office space in order to avoid Peter's scrutiny. Lying to him wasn't something she enjoyed. He sighed audibly through the line.

"Well I think that it would be in your best interests to have a break tonight. Maybe we could see about extending your project for the campaign against ID cards. If you come to my office with your stuff tomorrow then we can talk over your points because I can't risk going off message if all this becomes official." Peter was wiser than they often gave him credit for being. He was shrewd enough to know that Natalie's work against ID cards was particularly important to her due to her beliefs on the issue itself, but also because it gave her an opportunity to make an impression on the members of the Shadow Home Office.

"Alright, thank you Peter. That would be excellent." She ended the call and returned to work with enthusiasm until lunch time. If the people at the Shadow Home Office were impressed by what she produced, then if all went well she would move on to better things. Feeling happier than she had for days, Natalie decided to see if Emma felt like going for lunch. When they had just started, Emma at International Development and Natalie at the Scottish Office, they had eaten together every day and marvelled over the scale of the opposition, dreamed of life in government and been glad of having a friend nearby on whom to rely on through the ups and downs of internal party politics. Despite their move to the same department they had started spending less time together over lunch as they became accustomed to the step up in the level of work expected. Now _DoSaC_ had become humdrum to Natalie, and she didn't know if Emma felt the same way about it or not. She was used to the humble department and wanted a taste of something more. Picking up her handbag, Natalie headed around the desk. Emma was seated at her desk looking suitably bored as she stared at a blank screen, the slump of her shoulders alerting Natalie to the fact that something was wrong.

"Oh, hi Natalie." Although she managed a feeble smile it was obvious that Emma wasn't especially happy. "Have you finished the thing about the.... about the smaller schools?"

"I finished it three days ago- it should be in your pigeon hole." It was unusual to see Emma, renowned for her practicality, so unaware of what was happening around her. She watched as her friend reached into the red tray with both hands and withdrew a thick pile of folders.

"Oh god... I can't believe I didn't notice these." Emma cradled her head in her hands, looking at the pile through the gaps made by her fingers. "How could I have missed this?" Natalie was wondering how she could have missed her closest friend being so badly affected by something that it was causing problems with work.

"What's the matter Emma? Would you like to talk about it over lunch?" Natalie realised how much she had missed eating out with her friend. It was always good to have someone to discuss your problems with that wasn't liable to stab you in the back, but she knew that it would be unwise to mention having so much as a single thought about Malcolm Tucker.

"Yeah, that would- that'd be great." Emma shook her head in disbelief and stood, shrugging on a light jacket. Feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, they walked down the stairs and made light conversation on their way to a pizza place they had one frequented regularly. Once they were seated and their orders had been taken, Natalie decided that the time for questioning was ripe.

"So what's the matter? Is it something about work or something else?" She watched as Emma frowned slightly and toyed with the paper napkin. There had been a time when she wouldn't have hesitated to share her concerns, a time when Natalie would have noticed that something was bothering Emma sooner without having it spelled out for her.

"It's Ollie. We're going nowhere. It was fun at first but now I'm tired of it all." Natalie smiled sympathetically and squeezed her friend's hand, trying not to recall her most recent brush with Malcolm and his use of a similar gesture.

"What will you do? Have you told him?" Emma shook her head in response looking slightly guilty. "Then you need to let him know how you feel Em, otherwise it isn't fair on either of you."

"You're right. Of course." There was a lull in their conversation as the waiter set out the food they had ordered. "I'll tell him as soon as possible." Already she looked happier for her newfound conviction- much more like the woman Natalie knew to be her best friend.

"What about tonight?" Natalie knew that a clean break was exactly what Emma needed is she was to recover the focus that made her so great at her job. If only her own love life was so simple, but thoughts of Malcolm were never far from the front of her mind. She tried not to think of him, catching the tail end of Emma's response as they started eating.

"...and then we have the Radio 1 thing, remember? Who's not paying attention now?" Only Emma could ever catch her out when her thoughts wandered. It was a little frustrating, but it was good to see her friend resurfacing.

"Caught me, I'm sorry. So why not ask Peter for the night off?" t had been just as long if not longer since Emma had taken the evening off, and it was only fair that she was granted the same privileges as Natalie.

"You think he'd let me leave him with Phil for company?" Emma scoffed before taking a bite of her garlic bread. "Not bloody likely."

"I'll have a word with him- see if he'll take me there instead of you. I got given the night off, but I have so much stuff to do." No matter how much time Natalie spent working, there was always something else to be done. But nothing was ever exactly the same, and the ever changing landscape was one of the things she liked best about working in politics.

"No way, you've been taking on far too much. I know you want a promotion, but you still need to take care of yourself." Natalie vowed that she would never neglect her friendship with Emma again.

****

In the end Peter gave both Emma and Natalie the night off, too worn down by Stewart's afternoon's worth of pep talks to fully comprehend what he was agreeing to. Ollie had arrived and started cooking not long after they had returned to the flat for the evening, and with a whispered wish of _good luck_ to her oldest friend Natalie left with her laptop and headed for the nearest cafe in search of food, peace and quiet. Starbucks was no longer on the menu, but she found a relaxed little place near a park that played jazz music and served toasted Paninis.

Natalie had eaten dinner and was looking up the link to listen to the Murray/Mannion debate through her laptop, wondering how Peter was coping with the company he was keeping. The opening wasn't too bad and she couldn't help but laugh when Nicola rambled about piercings. She sipped the dregs of her coffee, enjoying the time to herself, when her phone started to ring. Pulling the earphones out, she answered and was not overly thrilled by hearing Stewart's voice.

"Hi Natalie, I'm sorry but we need you at the BBC. Peter isn't exactly on the same book as us, never mind the page, and he actually seems to listen to you, so it would be great if you could mosey on over. It's a three way street as I'm sure you'll appreciate." The line went dead, leaving her wondering what he had meant by his parting statement. Who still said 'mosey'? Packing her laptop into the backpack she carried, Natalie slung it over her shoulder and phoned a taxi, leaving a tip on the wooden counter. In the cab the taxi driver chortled over the Richard Bacon show.

"What wankers they are, discussing bankers' wages as though they ain't expenses fiddlers and all." She agreed readily with him and allowed the disastrous debate to drown out the mundane chatter, unhappy that Peter's incompetence was interrupting the first time to herself without thoughts of Malcolm in a fortnight. Nicola Murray's voice filled the car, droning about '_inspiring people out of poverty'_. As far as Natalie was concerned she may as well suggest feeding people out of obesity. Irritated by the prospect of a dull and stressful evening in the BBC, she blew her bangs out of her face and looked determinedly out of the window. "You don't like them politicians then."

"They have their moments." The cab drew to a halt outside the BBC car park and Natalie handed over the appropriate cash. As the radio show deteriorated her determination to help Peter increased exponentially. Doubtlessly Phil was cheering the generic catchphrases he had helped Peter to learn instead of working out what to suggest next to salvage the damage, which only served to increase the amount needing done.

"So what you doing here then, darlin'?" She had to go before he realised her purpose and attempted to conduct an interview.

"My job." Before he could ask any more, Natalie quit the taxi and marched briskly towards the towering building, the cool night air refreshing. She was tempted to jump across the security barricade when the receptionist spend a ridiculous length of time getting the appropriate paperwork for her, as there was no telling what kind of mistakes Peter had made since she had left the cab. At times this job could be highly frustrating. Giving up on dignity, she ran up the two flights of stairs and gave silent thanks to whoever had invented deodorant.

Phil's agonised shouting could be heard from around the corner, and she followed the cries to their source wondering what could have inflicted this kind of pain. The only thing that sprung to mind was Malcolm, but there had never been an incident of him carrying out a physical threat, had there? She ignored the stab of excitement at the thought of seeing him again. Maybe he would kiss her. But why had he kissed her in the first place? Her internal argument was halted by the sight of Phil waddling through the corridor, hands on the vicinity of his crotch.

"Natalie, how's it going?" She couldn't help but stare as steam rose from his damp trousers. "You always knew it was hot down there." Natalie continued towards a cramped room that contained Emma, Glenn and Terry. Emma was sitting with an open notepad writing furiously. She gave Natalie a wan smile and rolled her eyes towards the radio.

"Why are Phil's trousers wet?" She whispered so as not to interrupt the radio sitting in the corner. Emma gave her a blank look in response and patted the seat beside her. They ignored the way Terry was staring for as long as possible and didn't look in Glenn's general direction. "There was even steam coming off them. Has he had another accident?" They both laughed as quietly as they could manage.

"The poor thing. I thought he was just being rude earlier, but maybe he was stressed because of his condition. My sister-in-law has a weak bladder, and I'm sure she'd be happy to offer Phil some advice strictly off record." All Natalie could think of was the shrine dedicated to her boss when Terry spoke, causing her to subconsciously shrink back into the plush red couch. Was she really too stupid to pick up on humour?

"No, Phil doesn't have a weak bladder but Peter has a problem." Instantly she had Terry's complete attention, the intensity of the older woman's stare making Natalie want to hide behind the plush red couch. "He has a stalker, a sad middle aged woman who wants to give him fillatio- he calls her 'The Useless One'. So what can you do to help us fix that?" Natalie didn't receive an answer as Emma's raucous laughter lasted until the music that announced a break played, causing both of them to sigh with relief as it meant that Peter could get himself into no more hot water. They made their way out of the room only to come face to face with Ollie. "I'll leave you two be." She headed back towards an isolated couch and pulled out her laptop, sitting cross legged and scanning responses on the BBC page and planning a way to turn general opinion in a sympathetic direction.

"Well, look at this little cluster of excellence." Stewart sauntered through the corridor, looking perfectly relaxed despite Peter's alarming case of motor-mouth syndrome. He looked through the window beside her and scratched his bald head. "I'm thinking that the proverbial door has been locked with our guy on the other side, at least for tonight."

"It'll work out in the end- it always does." He nodded and patted her on the shoulder, a gesture Natalie found utterly condescending. She wondered if Stewart believed her words any more than she did.

She had written down some figures that Peter could use to make Nicola come out worse from the interview and had stood to deliver them when Malcolm rounded the corner. For a split second their eyes met before Natalie could look away, and she tried not to lick her lips as she recalled the way in which he had kissed her- that she didn't flush was too much to ask for. Her heartbeat remained accelerated once he had disappeared into the producer's room. There was no sign of Ollie and Emma was peering anxiously into the broadcast room, so it was most likely safe to join her. They listened companionably as the exchange grew more and more problematic, and Natalie found herself rooted to the spot even though she knew Malcolm could turn around at any second and see her.

Typical of her luck, something worse happened. He opened the door despite the protests of the producer and wrapped a hand around her wrist. The idea that he was going to kiss her again, this time publically, made Natalie feel ill. Instead he pulled her into the room and Emma followed, concern etched onto her features. She was acutely conscious of Malcolm breathing and moving nearby, and the place where he had grasped her tingled fiercely. She barely heard as Stewart read the incriminating text from the screen, and when Malcolm's hand brushed her side as he ushered everyone from the room her stomach turned.

"Are you alright?" Emma pulled her into a discreet corner of the room, her blue eyes full of concern. "I know you were looking forward to having a night off, and this must be a disappointment, especially when you've spent so much of your time working recently." It was almost impossible for Natalie to keep from sighing in relief that her strange behaviour couldn't be linked to Malcolm.

"Never mind me, did Ollie get the message?" She feigned interest as Emma answered, fighting the urge to sneak glances at Malcolm. The appeal of him wasn't one that Natalie understood, but it was undeniably there.

****

Trailing behind Emma and Ollie and doing her best to ignore their argument, Natalie pulled her jumper more tightly around herself and thought with regret of the bath she could have been having, had things turned out differently. She listened to the conversation between Malcolm and the others as they left the BBC studios.

"He'll bounce back. You'll see. It'll be like when Frodo recovers after going to Mordor and sails away with the elves: he'll be back in the cabinet after the election and-" Phil's rapture was cut short by Malcolm's acerbic wit.

"You know, your guy does remind me of "Lord of the Rings", and I think this one's called "The Return of the Cunt". There's even going to be a fucking trilogy of mistakes before it's Goodnight Mister Fucking Tom; the love child, this radio mess and after the next one it's all over for him, eh? The fucking end." Ollie was too depressed by his recent return to being single to laugh, and Glenn looked about as cheerful as a manic depressive. Talk of Peter's shelf life reminded Natalie that she needed to move onwards before her boss was declared past it otherwise she would essentially be back where she had started upon taking the job, her word no longer golden.

"Say what you like Malcolm, but he'll last a lot longer than Ruby Gloom up there. Night all." Stewart saluted them before unchaining his bike from a fence and cycling off into the night, clad in a fluorescent jacket. She watched as Emma stepped into the nearest waiting taxi, Phil hot on her heels and gesturing crudely towards Ollie, and closed the door behind her, the annoyance she would feel at being left behind dramatically outweighed by the spark of something unidentifiable at a chance to speak to Malcolm. She watched from the shadows as Glenn offered Ollie a lift home, knowing that despite the friction between them the two men cared for one another.

"Well?" Malcolm didn't turn around but he certainly knew that she was there. Once Glenn's car had vanished from sight, she took a few steps towards him, unsure of how to progress.

"I... uh..." Being alone with him, Natalie found that her uncertainties about his motives were impossible to quash. The more she considered starting anything with him, the more foolish it seemed.

"What is this, the fucking 'Curious Incident of the Tory in the Night-Time'? Out with it."

"Happy birthday, Malcolm." She didn't even have to look at him to know that Malcolm was rolling his eyes in exasperation, nor could she blame him, but Natalie didn't know how else to proceed and it was better to test the ground before stepping onto it. Tentatively she approached him, wondering whether to touch his arm or do something that would require a confirmation of what was between them.

"See if you're not jumping out of a fucking cake, I really don't want to hear it, right? In fact I'd rather go back up there and listen to the sound of a fucking toilet flushing Nicola and Mannion away to a place from which it's doubtful that even_ I_ could fucking help them out of." Malcolm's tone gave no indication of what he was thinking, and the glance he gave her was so brief that it may well never have taken place. For a few moments Natalie observed the contours of his face, not stopping when the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement doubtlessly derived from the uncharacteristic boldness of her actions. Emboldened by the lack of rebuke, she slipped her arm through his and was gratified when Malcolm pulled her a fraction closer as they started towards the exit of the car park.

"So how old are you today?"

"Fifty." Malcolm tensed by her side, more concerned than he cared to admit about what she was going to say. But Natalie didn't say anything for several moments, instead lost in thought, a pensive look clouding her eyes.

"I have an idea. Come with me." Natalie felt giddy when he complied and was surprised by his lack of resistance, so much so that she turned to face him. "What, don't you trust me?"

"Hmm." Malcolm's face was unreadable to her. It dawned on her that he felt awkward about his age.

"I know just how we can celebrate, come on. Fifty years is a landmark!" She tugged on his arm leading them across the street and in the direction of a small corner shop, unaware of Malcolm's thoughts. He wasn't aware of what she was planning but he certainly had ideas of his own. As they travelled through the streets, quiet between the evening rush home and the surge of Friday night urban party goers, Natalie wanted to know what he felt about having kissed her. They reached the small shop without further incident. "Wait here?"

"Why, so you can leave me standing here like a fucking lonely lemon bastard?" His teasing smile was strangely endearing.

"Maybe I will." Backing into the shop, Natalie flashed him an enigmatic smile. As she disappeared from view Malcolm knew with certainty that she would be back. He paced back and forth outside of the shop, waiting for Natalie to return and wondering how far he could progress with her. Minutes later she returned, a carrier bag in hand and a look of slight uncertainty on her face.

"Listen, how would you like to come back to my place? Just for a coffee." He waited and scrutinised her face, watching as Natalie weighed up the pros and cons of each option.

"Alright, yeah. That would be nice." It wasn't a great distance to his house, and so Malcolm led the way, remaining silent to allow Natalie time to consider her affirmative decision. He took her bad in one hand and grasped her fingers with the other before they crossed a busy junction and didn't let go until they reached the door of his home. Natalie hesitated on the threshold, focussed intently on her shoes. Placing a hand underneath her chin, Malcolm tilted her head upwards and forced Natalie to meet his gaze.

"I'll walk you home if you'd prefer, spend the rest of my birthday sitting around in my pyjamas, watching fucking reality television..." Natalie frowned slightly, looking guilty. "I'm fucking joking, it's fine if you want to go home. I'll call Tom instead and we can have a sleepover, watch a couple of DVDs of Jennifer Aniston and that sad prick." His joking, as anticipated, set Natalie at ease.

"No, I'll come in. I want to." She ducked under Malcolm's arm and into the dark hallway, making a beeline for the kitchen. There was something fun about knowing that she was about to surprise the Labour Party's spin doctor even if it was something so minor. "Wait there and don't turn on the lights. I've got something to give you." Natalie put on the kettle and opened the carrier bag as quickly as possible, lifting out its contents rapidly.

"What the fuck's taking you so long? You could be fucking baking me a cake; cream jam and fucking poison flavour." Malcolm had, judging by the way his footsteps had stopped, sat on the soft but he could be peering around the corner and see her frantically searching for the lighter she had bought for the candles.

"You're not looking, are you?" Natalie lit the candle and wondered what his response to the impromptu cupcake would be.

"I know about as much of what's going on as fucking Stevie Wonder sat in front of one of those fucking silent pictures...." Malcolm's face flickered in the shadows cast by the little candle and it was impossible to say how he felt about the cake.

"Happy birthday." Natalie sat beside him on the sofa and handed over the cake.

"Really pulled out all the fucking stops, didn't you? I'm getting all nostalgic thinking about the days when my salary ran towards nothing but Space Raiders, porn and cheap vodka." Malcolm was, as always, unreadable to her. As they sat beside one another in a tense silence, Natalie wondered if it had been a mistake to come here after all. She tried not to breathe audibly, wondering how best to extract herself. When Malcolm's hand wrapped around her hand she jumped slightly, cursing herself for showing weakness, but he didn't seem to notice as he guided the cake closer and blew out the single candle.

"Did you make a wish then?" Her voice shook slightly. The firmness of his grip was somehow reassuring, and Natalie missed it as he stood to switch on the light. He returned looking thoughtful.

"I'm fifty, not fucking five years old." There was no time to consider what his wish would have been as Malcolm smeared away her lip gloss with the edge of his thumb and leant in to kiss her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and Natalie found that she was pressed pleasantly between his body and the arm of the sofa. With each kiss her uncertainties faded, replaced by an unnerving level of calm. Placing a hand on either side of her face, Malcolm was the first to break the embrace. He studied her intently before speaking again. "Stay."

"Why do you want me to stay?" Being held like this was soothing, yet it put Natalie on edge. She tried to remain as still as she could in an effort to hide her feelings. "That's the question you owe me an answer to."

"Because you're lovely." Malcolm watched as she blushed, looking as relaxed as he had ever seen her. It was true- she was lovely, but that wasn't why he wanted her. He stroked her hair and pushed away the last of Natalie's trepidation before kissing her once again. It wasn't boukaki at bed time, but it wasn't half bad either.

****

**Thanks for reading. Please review. I don't know how to spell 'boukaki' and I'm not sure that I want to find out how.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Brilliant news; Armando Iannucci posted on Twitter that 8 more episodes of "The Thick of It" are to be made. In the mean time, I hope that you continue to enjoy reading this. Who doesn't love awkward post sex moments?**

**OoOoO**

It was a Saturday and so she didn't need to be out of bed at an obscenely early time of day. Savouring her first thought of the day, Natalie snuggled into the duvet and stretched languidly. Her hand came into contact with warm skin. She sat up and saw Malcolm Tucker sleeping beside her, the events of last night springing to mind. _What had she done?_ Natalie squeaked before covering her mouth with both hands- she wasn't ready for him to wake up just yet. _But it had been wonderful_. Hopping out of his bed, Natalie reclaimed her underwear from the carpet and wrapped herself in a burgundy dressing gown that was hanging from the door. She had some serious thinking to do, and it couldn't be done on an empty stomach.

There was something exhilarating about being downstairs in Malcolm's house, silence her only companion. When she realised that she was walking on tiptoes Natalie berated herself- she wasn't trespassing because he had invited her here. Brightly coloured cards on the mantel piece caught her eye. Taking advantage of her solitude, Natalie decided to investigate and opened the first one, taking in the glittering 'congratulations' emblazoned across the front.

'_Malc,_

_Congratulations on finally being old enough for the swearing, the threats and generally pretty fucking scary behaviour to become socially acceptable. I'm actually a bit jealous. Maybe I should have written in bigger letters so that you don't have to do that zombie arm stretch old people do whenever they have to read something._

_Lots of love and kisses!_

_Jamie'_

Even through the written word, Jamie managed to be offensive. Natalie couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed as she returned the card to its original place, heading into the kitchen. She sorted through cupboards, concentrating on finding everything that she needed to make a fried breakfast- Malcolm was Scottish, so there was no way he could object to greasy food- as opposed to the possible consequences of last night. Growing bolder, she switched on the radio as she cooked, humming along to a tune she vaguely recognised. Thankfully there were plates and cutlery on the draining board beside the sink, so she didn't need to root around for them. Dividing up the food into relatively even piles, Natalie turned to carry the plates upstairs and nearly dropped them in surprise. Malcolm was stood watching her, clearly contemplating something.

"Jesus, Malcolm. You scared me." Natalie squirmed as he looked her up and down, realising that she was wearing his dressing gown. At the time it had seemed a sensible idea, but it was strange being barely dressed in his home when Malcolm was fully clothed. He took a plate from her and headed for the dining room.

"So you're still here then." He sat and started eating with gusto- she had been right to suppose that he would enjoy a cooked breakfast.

"Er... yes I am." Unable to start eating, Natalie rolled up the sleeves of his dressing gown and wondered what he had meant by the statement. "Would you like me to go?" Malcolm lowered his cutlery and looked at her as though she had grown another head or announced that she was defecting from the Tories in order to join the Lib Dems.

"No, I'm just a little bit fucking surprised is all." Malcolm didn't have to lie; he was surprised that she hadn't left first thing in the morning like he had expected her to. Instead she was sitting there, looking relatively relaxed about the situation- which may be a direct result of last night- and there was something strangely beguiling about the way she fidgeted with the sleeve of his dressing gown.

"Oh..." Natalie poked at her food, feeling more than slightly foolish. Why _hadn't_ she just left? Staying had felt right, but leaving was the infinitely more sensible option.

"Jesus, Mary and Jefferson fucking Airplane, I'm glad you're still here, right?" Malcolm watched as a blush spread across her cheeks and a smile devoid of artfulness quirked the corners of her lips. It was, he thought, altogether too easy. They finished breakfast in a companionable silence. As she placed her cutlery in the middle of her plate, Natalie wondered what she ought to say or do next.

"What happens now?" Slightly apprehensive, Natalie bit her lip. She had no idea what she wanted to happen, and it seemed like a good idea to have Malcolm's perspective.

"We unite the parties, reconcile the forces of fucking darkness and light so that every politician wants nothing more than world peace. We make it so that all the poor people and rich cunts can live harmoniously- maybe even cross the divide and fucking produce a whole army of little middle class kiddies that can have the best of both worlds; fucking tea and scones for afternoon tea and a public school education, they can even go to football matches with lunchboxes packed full of quails' eggs and flasks of champagne-" Malcolm sighed when he caught sight of the stricken expression on her face as she looked anywhere but him. It was blatantly obvious that she was trying not to cry. He considered the value of keeping himself in Natalie's good books and in an attempt to make amends reached across the table to take her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Natalie pulled her hand away from underneath his and stood. She refused to cry in front of Malcolm Tucker. "I shouldn't have expected anything less from you. I- I don't know why I did this."

"Natalie?" He groaned as he watched her disappear and listened to the quick tread of her feet on the stairs. Why couldn't he have held his tongue? _Because she was a fucking vacuous, insipid Tory bitch._ Malcolm recalled the way she had flinched and felt, what- _guilt_? He dismissed the thought as soon as it arrived. What he felt was anger at himself for jeopardising a resource of helpful information.

Malcolm stood and followed her up the stairs. By the time he arrived in his bedroom she was almost fully dressed.

"I have to go now." He watched, unsure how to proceed, as she tugged her jumper over her head.

"Wait." When he caught hold of her arm as she tried to pass him, Malcolm wondered if he was about to be slapped as anger flashed behind her eyes. "Your top's inside out." She looked down and nodded, plucking at the white label bearing washing instructions. "I don't want you to go."

"Malcolm, you just don't get it; if a guy wants a girl to stay after sex then... he actually has to be _nice_ to her. I don't know how you've managed in the past with that, but I'm not staying to find out." Natalie wriggled free and shrugged off her top, staring at it intently as she set about fixing it. He couldn't help but look at her.

"I really would like you to stay; I'll buy you dinner and pretend to watch whatever the fuck it is that you want to see on TV." It would be worth it, too.

"You know exactly what I mean." She smiled sadly. Malcolm watched as collected her fallen hair pins from the floor. Spotting one behind a lamp, he retrieved it and handed it back.

"You look lovely. And Jamie was wrong; I'd rather have you than fucking Natalie Portman, wouldn't I?" He watched as she fixed her hair into a bun, uncertain if she intended it to be messy or not. Either way, there was something charming about it. Natalie turned and frowned at him.

"Don't. I'm cute and you want to sleep with me again- I get that- but that isn't enough to make this into more than a one off." Since his divorce, Malcolm had often been thankful that his personal life, with the exception of a few flings, had been free of the confusing entity that was a woman_. They were so much fucking effort_.

"That's not it. I like you." Malcolm moved to stand behind her and kissed the side of Natalie's neck.

"Malcolm-" He continued, causing her to fall silent quickly.

"I like you, so for fuck's sake, bear with me." Natalie laughed aloud, and he felt her shaking underneath his hands. She turned around and leant against him.

"This is ridiculous." She leant up and gave Malcolm a gentle kiss, savouring the feeling of his hands in her hair. "Alright, I'll stay."

**OoOoO**

"I'm going to work now." Natalie kissed his cheek, briefly enveloping Malcolm in the scent of her perfume, and disappeared into the hallway. Momentarily he ceased scanning his blackberry, watching her retreating back.

"Try not to come to close to destroying the world with your almighty fucking powers of darkness." The closing of the front door was the only response he received. Malcolm smiled. Every time she had visited over the previous few weeks they agreed it would be the last, yet Natalie's visits were becoming more frequent, as was her staying overnight.

Unaware of how the recent appearance of bottles of her shampoo, shower gel and various items of clothing were grating on his nerves, Natalie unpacked her computer and checked her pigeon hole. It was empty. She had to fight the urge to squeal in delight; the powers that be had given her project against ID cards the green light. Every evening in recent history had been spent adjusting the style of their argument and editing the literature accordingly, and every morning since the process had started, Natalie had found her pigeon hole filled with her work, covered in post-it notes from various people 'suggesting' changes.

She logged on to the intranet, fully intending on gloating to Phil, when a screen name that almost always made her heart plummet turned green- it seemed that Stewart had been waiting, invisible, for an opportunity to virtually accost her. Reluctantly, she accepted his invitation to mutually webcam.

"Natalie, how are you this morning?" The question was innocent enough, but she wondered if Stewart had some way of knowing that she had spent the night with Malcolm. Maybe they had tracking devices now. It was an illogical fear, yet an uncomfortable thought.

"Fine, yeah. Listen, my stuff wasn't on my desk this morning. Has it been held up, or...?" Before celebrating, it was best to establish the facts. Still, Natalie couldn't stop the excitement bubbling up in her altogether, so she drummed her fingers on the table.

"_Everyone_ is happy with it, especially Helen and her team." Stewart's mention of the Shadow Home Office couldn't have been anything but planned. "And so I wanted to have a little meeting with you."

"Alright, I'll come over to your office now." Just as Natalie went to sign off, Stewart's voice stopped her.

"This_ is_ the meeting. We're having an online conference. Face to face has been replaced by face to book. We have casually gone where many men- and women- have gone before, because cyberspace is now _my_ space, and yours-" Although he was clearly enjoying the flow of his speech, Natalie was yet to ingest enough caffeine to be able to tint the blue of his skies to a more realistic shade.

"Stewart, you're less than twenty feet away from me. This is ridiculous- it's an _epic fail_, if you like." It felt slightly sacrilegious to refer to an online meme in what was the central office of the Conservative Party, a place she had been eager to join for its substance and solid traditions. Still, it seemed that Stewart was pleased by her display of awareness for such things, and he chortled in an exaggerated way to let Natalie know that he understood the jibe.

"Alright, come over to my office." As he closed over her laptop, Natalie rolled her eyes. Another good thing about being promoted was that she would be surrounded by more like minded people, if all went to plan. Every department had contact with Stewart, but with more capable superiors, she would hopefully be on the receiving end of his spiel a lot less often. Outside the door to the office, Natalie almost bumped into Phil.

"Where were you last night?" He attempted to embarrass her by speaking loudly enough that the conversation was audible to several people.

"With a man, but then you'd know all about that." Smiling to herself, Natalie turned and made to enter the office, but Stewart was already stood in the doorway.

"Natalie, please try and be a little more sensitive and tolerant- imagine what it would be like to have your choice of partner ridiculed by us all. That being said, Phil, she owned you." The irony of that statement made Natalie want to laugh aloud as she sat on the proffered chair- Stewart would be so tolerant of her thing with Malcolm that she would probably lose her job. Stewart closed the door, blocking out the sounds of the department, before sitting behind his desk.

"So, what did you want to speak to me about?" Unfolding her hands, Natalie placed them flat on her lap in an effort to stop them from sweating.

"Think of the ideology of this party as... a person. Through different times, this person wears different clothes, but ultimately it's the same person. You are currently a little patch darning the sock that is Peter Mannion, MP. But the person now feels like you'd be more appropriately put to use decorating their jeans, shall we say." If it wouldn't have jeopardised the promotion Stewart was hinting at, then Natalie would have given in to the temptation to tell him to hurry up. However, she felt that it was expedient to allow him to continue. "So how do you, little patch, feel about this?"

"I'm very interested."

"That's good, because Nancy feels that you'd be an ideal addition to her team, and JB has cleared it." Stewart slid a form across the table towards her. "Take the morning off to read over this, and I'll see you again after lunch, okay?"

"Yes, thank you Stewart. Does Peter know?" Although Peter's career was in its twilight years and there were no real opportunities left in the shadow DoSaC, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness for her boss. There was no telling if he'd survive the next election, or even reshuffle as a member of the shadow cabinet, and it must be difficult seeing his aspirations- hopes that vaguely mirrored her own- coming to an end.

"Not yet, no. You can tell him about your decision after lunch." Stewart turned to his computer, and Natalie knew herself to have been dismissed. Leafing through the form, Natalie took in the requirements of her new position, but what really stuck out was that her salary had risen drastically. She would, with some careful budgeting, be able to afford a flat of her own- it would need to be small, but it would be hers.

"Off again? I've hardly seen you all week." Emma appeared by her side, half teasing, half serious. She was carrying a bundle of folders for Peter about their latest policy reform. Quickly, Natalie stuffed her new contract into her briefcase behind her laptop. Instead of scouring over these for the last few weeks with Phil and Emma, she had been working for another department. Natalie wondered how many people had noticed this impending change.

"Yeah, I'll tell you about it at lunch. Meet me in Costa Coffee as soon as you can." Natalie watched her closest friend stepping into Peter's office. She would miss working with Emma, but hopefully she would be offered a promotion too- she had the ability, but her recent blip with Ollie had been a distraction. Natalie walked away from her desk for what she knew may be the last time.

**OoOoO**

"_Sam_! Get me a cup of coffee, would you- and one for yourself." Malcolm sank into the chair behind his desk and rested his head in his hands. _How could the Prime Minister imagine going to the summit without his guidance?_ It was like a socially awkward and less toned Batman trying to cope without Chief Gordon. This amusing train of thought did nothing to alleviate the growing sense of unease: _what the fuck was Tom's game_? He blinked in surprise as Sam set down the mug of coffee, jolting him from his reverie.

"Are you feeling alright, Malcolm?" Sam was frowning, concerned. If she had been anyone else, Malcolm would have told her where to stick her worry, but Sam made better coffee than any other PA he had ever had.

"I'm fine. Fucktastic." He couldn't quite muster his usual sarcastic joviality, and she wasn't convinced by his attempt, but there was little Sam could say to fix anything. In fact, she managed to make things worse.

"Malcolm... there's something I should tell you." The last time Sam had sounded so nervous, she had broken serious news. He sat up a little straighter. "I was talking to Josephine upstairs..."

"Go on. Listen, the sooner you tell me, the sooner I can put a stop to whatever the fuck it is, okay?" He was dreading hearing whatever it was, despite this encouragement. Already Malcolm was thinly stretched, and things were going badly enough without another problem to nix. Josephine was Tom's PA, so he could be sure that the mistake would snowball.

"Well, she says that she's booked a ticket for Steve Flemming to fly to Spain." Sam shifted uncomfortably.

_Steve Flemming_. Malcolm was shocked. _If Steve was back_- he fought the urge to overturn his desk, knowing that such a display would do nothing to help him.

"Thank you, Sam." He pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for the roaring in his ears to subside. It didn't.

_Surely this was a temporary appointment._

_Fuck. _

**OoOoO**

Still tipsy from her evening of celebrations with Emma, Natalie tottered along the garden path and knocked on Malcolm's door. She hadn't expected to hear from him today, because the unspoken agreement between them was that they'd text an invitation for dinner, and Malcolm hadn't texted during the evening. He had called her half an hour ago just as she was about to wind down for the night, and even through her alcohol induced haze, Natalie had sensed that something was different. The door opened and Malcolm appeared, scotch in hand. Wordlessly, she followed him to the couch.

Malcolm pushed a packet of crisps towards her and settled back, taking a deep drink from the crystal tumbler. Perhaps it was the large quantities of alcohol she had spent her evening drinking, but Natalie didn't feel the need to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling that Malcolm gave her, and so she kicked off her shoes and curled up beside him. _It was just sex, but that didn't mean they couldn't cuddle, did it?_ Going for broke, she wrapped an arm around his back. After Michael McIntyre finished bouncing around the stage, Natalie decided to talk.

"You're awfully quiet, Malcolm." She squeezed him gently, certain that there was more going on with Malcolm than usual.

"Yeah, and you're pretty drunk." He felt a surprising surge of fondness as he looked down at her, which he instantly associated with the scotch. Natalie yawned, and he kissed her forehead. She wasn't expecting it, but Natalie knew better than to comment if she wanted him to repeat the gesture again.

"Mm, I'm moving departments. I've been promoted and now I'm working for Nancy Campbell- from bad to worse, I know." She watched, pleased as Malcolm's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I haven't been so fucking ashamed of myself in... ever, actually. I always did have a bit of a thing for the bad girls, but you're a complete fucking she devil now. Tell me, is that quaff thing because it looks pretty or to hide the little horns just fucking growing out of your head now?" He fed her the last of the crisps, laughing as she bit at his fingers.

"Well, you said that my hair's pretty, so I'll let that one slide." She stretched and stood up. "Now, let's go to bed."

"Hold on just a fucking minute there, has all the right wing propaganda you're surrounded by every day caused your little plastic fucking Politics Barbie mind to implode? Just because you're a real storm trooper now doesn't mean that you-" The anger Malcolm felt at being interrupted was short lived as they kissed.

"It must have, because I'm still here." The absurdity of her situation caused Natalie to laugh aloud. "Maybe the immense pressures of keeping that train wreck of a government on the rails and looking after your own interests have turned your little Action Man head in the _right_ direction." She struck a pose, pouting at the mirror.

"Yeah, the National Association for the Truly Fucking Awful Puns called- they want that one back." He followed her out of the room, looking forward to the night much more than he had any part of the day. _Since when was a false relationship with a member of the rival party supposed to be simple?_ Malcolm rolled his eyes. _Or fun_.

**OoOoO**

**Thanks for reading. Please review. In episode 8 Malcolm mentions "JB, Cal Richards, and their hordes of fucking robots...", so I took it that JB is the leader of the opposition at the time. I know it was comparatively short, but I'll update soon.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I would like to take this opportunity to shamelessly plug my other "Thick of It" stories. I've written three one shot stories in the same style as this in the past couple of days, and I'd be much obliged if you'd look them up and tell me what you think. Happy reading!**

**OoOoO**

Dressed in a new suit that she had treated herself with after her promotion, Natalie brushed her hair in front of the mirror. Malcolm sat on his bed watching the news and emailing various ministers with their instructions for the day. He was determined to keep things running perfectly smoothly until the Prime Minister returned.

"Malcolm?" She ruffled her fringe expertly before spraying it into place. "I thought you said something about being in Spain about now. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you're here, but I hadn't expected it."

The comment was made innocently, but for Malcolm it was a serious test of his patience. He had told her nothing about the precarious situation he had found himself in, and that was exactly how it was going to remain. He put the finishing touches on the email to Nicola Murray, a walking disaster if ever there was one – there was no way he could let the BBC interview her without some intense preparation – and stood, pocketing the device.

"Something's come up and I'd better go, otherwise- let's just say things will get pretty fucking nasty, and I mean Jeremy Paxman ten years back, when you were still watching the fucking Teletubbies or whatever, when he had balls the size of a fucking pair of space hoppers, nasty." He headed down the stairs and removed his jacket and scarf from the cupboard.

"You're avoiding the subject..." From the top of the stairs, Natalie watched as he buttoned up his jacket, unaware of how close she was to becoming the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. "Tell me, are party funds really so low that they can't afford to fly you out there."

The jibe was mild in comparison to the things Malcolm had said to her, but still he found that it was impossible to keep himself from snapping. Too many things were going wrong too quickly, and the last thing he needed was her mouthing off at him.

"Listen, I don't know what the fuck your problem is; maybe Daddy doesn't give you enough of his fucking pots of money, or, or Mummy doesn't love you enough, but I couldn't give a flying fuck about that, or any other part of your fucking sad little, insignificant Conservative life, so don't you fucking start asking about mine." There was a silence during which they both considered the harshness of his words. Instantly, Malcolm knew he had said the wrong thing. The whole point of this was to keep her sweet in case he needed to learn anything confidential about the Tories. That didn't quite explain the feeling that was suspiciously like guilt, but it could only be about sabotaging what had been a brilliant plan. She disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later with her briefcase. "I'm sorry."

"_Fuck you, Malcolm_. I have put up with so much of your crap, but I can't do it anymore. I thought... I don't know what I thought." Natalie pushed past him, and he saw that she was on the verge of tears as she slammed the door behind herself.

It dawned on Malcolm that he had fucked up spectacularly. Now more than ever, he needed to have something to fall back on – a source of information – but now she was gone, and even when he had been trying so hard to solve the ongoing problems with his career, Malcolm knew that he had only made things worse. _He was getting careless_.

"Fuck!" _And she was gone_. Malcolm opened the front door and stormed out into the street. There was no sign of Natalie, _not that he was looking for her_. He gritted his teeth and walked to Number Ten, where things went from bad to worse.

**OoOoO**

Natalie wiped her eyes and reapplied her eyeliner for the third time that day. She splashed some cold water on her face before leaving the female bathroom and returning to her newly gained office space. She now had a desk in the corner of the room, a filing cabinet and a potted, the latter of which was courtesy of her new boss, the Shadow Home Secretary. It was early days and Natalie still wanted to make the best possible impression, so she made sure to keep her demeanour as sunny as possible. Thankfully her brief for the day didn't involve working with her new colleagues, and so Natalie was free to work in peace and attempt to forget about her horrendous morning in solitude. She answered her memos and became better acquainted with the filing system favoured by the department, hoping to gain a better insight into how the Shadow Home Office worked.

It was comforting when an email from Emma arrived. There was only a single floor separating them, but now they worked for different departments, there was a lot less opportunity to gossip. Natalie clicked the link to the BBC page and whistled. Murray marks her man and makes her move. She watched the video of Nicola Murray, stilted before the camera, stammering about leadership, and typed back a response:

'_The scary thing is that it might be true- no clue what their lot are thinking. Do you think Murray will go for it? -N'_

If this move hadn't been sanctioned by the party – and she knew that it almost definitely hadn't – then Natalie could picture Malcolm's reaction. She ignored the stab of discomfort and continued with her work.

Natalie dismissed it as a mistake, but before long the situation escalated. She couldn't believe it when the _Daily Mail_ decided to back Nicola, nor the brief statement the minister gave to the press. Even as she went home for the day, Natalie couldn't stop thinking about the way in which the Labour party seemed to be losing control. Maybe Malcolm had something big planned.

In an effort to stop thinking about the Labour Party's spin doctor, Natalie decided to make dinner. Having something to do with her hands was relaxing, and she wanted to do something nice for Emma, who had seemed a bit down since Ollie.

"Would you like me to make a salad for with that?" Just as Natalie slid the lasagne into the oven, Emma stepped into the kitchen.

"No... no, I can manage, but thank you." She couldn't meet Emma's eyes, unable to deal with the slightly sanctimonious talk that would follow any discussion of what had transpired between her and Malcolm.

"Alright then. Do you want the Chardonnay or the Pinot Grigio?" Emma looked between the bottles indecisively.

"Whatever you would prefer is fine." There was something very relaxing about chopping up the vegetables for the salad. Natalie accepted a liberal helping of wine and enjoyed the pleasant buzz that it gave her as she worked.

"You're doing a better job with this than Ollie ever did." Emma snorted in disgust.

"Men can be such bastards. Oh, speak of the devil." As Phil sauntered into the kitchen and helped himself to the wine, Natalie prayed that he would go away as suddenly as he had appeared.

"So if we're so bad, why don't you two go lesbian? Since I suggested it, I will of course be allowed to watch-"

"Fuck off, Phil." Nobody managed indignant rage quite like Emma.

"Alright, but only because this is like 'Friends' meets the 'Gilmore Girls'." He lifted the packet of crisps that Emma had opened, but both of them felt that it was a small price to pay for some peace and quiet.

"Are you okay? You've been awfully quiet." Setting down the knife, Natalie turned to face her friend.

"I- I'm fine." She gave a feeble smile and willed Emma to accept her answer, but the only sounds in the room were the hum of Radio One in the background and the gentle roar of the oven.

"No you're not. Where have you been going at night? Have you had a fight with him?" It was astonishingly close to the truth, and Natalie realised that she had completely underestimated her best friend. Of course Emma would realise.

"What? There _is_ no guy; I've been working." It wasn't uncommon for people engaged in projects or warding off a crisis to work overnight, and Natalie only hoped that her excuse would seem reasonable enough.

"Is it- is it a girl you've been with?" Emma spoke so softly and looked so serious that Natalie had to laugh. After a moment, Emma's straight face wavered and she started to giggle. "I didn't think so, but it wouldn't have mattered if it was."

"Do you _really_ think that my mum would see it that way?" Again, they laughed, and Natalie felt closer to Emma than she had in a while. Her mother was, if possible, even more conservative than Thatcherite Natalie, and did not acknowledge same sex relationships, never mind approve of them. "You're right, there was a man. But it's over now, and I..." Determined to retain her composure, Natalie opened the oven to check up on her masterpiece.

"You're still not over him?" Emma watched sympathetically, nibbling on a piece of garlic bread.

"No. It was this morning that I finished it, and we weren't well suited, but it still hurt. It was supposed to be a fling, but then I started to have feelings for him, and I thought that he had feelings for me... I was completely and utterly wrong." When Emma wrapped her in a hug, Natalie couldn't help but cry. She was still shocked that things with Malcolm had ended so badly, even though she should have seen it coming, and she didn't want to think about her feelings for him.

"Just tell me one thing. It wasn't..." As Emma hesitated, the pit of her stomach fell. Natalie knew she had said too much. "It wasn't Phil, was it?"

"Phil? _Fuck_, no." Wiping her face, Natalie realised that she was laughing and crying at the same time. She could see the headline before her eyes: Government Spin Doctor Drives Tory Policy Adviser Insane. Together, she and Emma served their meal and watched the review of the Fourth Sector Launch on the politics channel.

**OoOoO**

Also watching the BBC's analysis was Malcolm Tucker. He was to see Tom in the morning – the Premier's first undertaking upon his return to the UK was to see him – and so evidently Steve was getting the boot. His gut was telling him that something was amiss, but Malcolm wanted the buzzing in his head to stop. He would accept this as a life raft and work from there.

All in all, the Fourth Sector launch had been no worse than he had expected; that is to say, it was abysmal. On the bright side, everyone had been granted an insight into the Nicola Murray that he worked with on a daily basis and as a result, withdrawn support. _Perhaps it hadn't been a part of the plan, but he could try and spin it that way, and who didn't love a happy ending? _The cliché made him think of another happy ending scenario, which although it had been a sham, Malcolm knew had been an enjoyable sham.

He had never made Natalie that angry before, and they had initially traded such insults – Malcolm frowned as he realised that he had given out the majority of them – at the beginning of their... _what had it been?_ It had started out as just sex, and for the sheer hell of it he had decided to make her fall for him. She wasn't completely awful, even if you could be a little fey at times, and it had been... acceptable to have her with him on the couch, especially when she had cuddled him. Perhaps he should have cuddled her too; women tended to like that, and it would have helped the plan.

_He couldn't use her for information_. _Natalie had left him_.

Malcolm was not willing to consider how much these facts distressed him; to do either would be to concede weakness. She had been promoted and so would be made aware of more sensitive information, so it stood to reason that he would try and get her back. It was logical. It was the immense pressure under which he could not afford to crack – not again, and he should never have spoken like that to Terri, but she had caught him off guard, almost like... – that made him nervous as he dialled Natalie's now familiar number from his home phone so that she wouldn't recognise the caller ID.

_It rang. _

He waited.

_It rang._

"Hello?" Natalie spoke clearly, her crisp accent slightly muffled in a way that suggested she had been crying. She cared.

"Hi, Natalie? No, listen darling, don't hang up. I'm really sorry about earlier-"

"I meant what I said. It's over. Don't call me again."

"Don't _fucking_ hang up!"

"I can't handle it. I can't deal with you anymore."

The line went dead. Malcolm stared at his phone in disbelief. Ignorant of the devastation his life was undergoing, Jeremy Clarkson – Malcolm thought he was a cunt, personally. A useless, English cunt at that – droned on in the background. Malcolm dialled her number again. He nearly had a heart attack when Margaret Thatcher's voice trilled through the telephone – she was an even bigger cunt than Jeremy Clarkson, and arguably the biggest cunt in British history – but it was only Natalie's automated message_: it's a better record than the Labour party ever had at any time_. She wasn't taking calls, it seemed. And every time he wanted to call her, he would need to run the risk of listening to that harridan.

Malcolm dropped the phone into the cradle and headed for his drink cabinet. He poured himself a generous glass of scotch. After one particularly good night, he had decided to try and charm Natalie by asking what she cared about. She had bitten her lip and giggled before enthusing about Margaret Thatcher and what an inspiration she had been. At first Malcolm had been forced to count to ten and backwards so that he didn't eject her from his bed, but if he pretended that she was talking about something else, he could instead focus on how pretty Natalie looked when she was half asleep.

He drank from the glass and contemplated what favours he could call in, should it come to... _of course it wouldn't_.

Perhaps his failure to set things with Natalie right had been an omen, because Malcolm's supposed reconciliation meeting with the Prime Minister was only a formality to let him know that Steve Flemming was officially back. He had already known, and Tom knew that he already would. Prowling the streets of London, Malcolm was none the wiser about how he could fix his situation than he had been when he had stepped into the Prime Minister's office.

**OoOoO**

Alone once more, there was no distraction from the task at hand. Slowly but surely, the many plots he had concocted had become increasingly tangled, and the harder he tried, the worse things became. The steady ticking of the clock made Malcolm aware that he was no closer to saving himself. Tom was extremely cool with him, so using his charm wasn't going to be possible until it was too late, and all his time was being taken up with trying to get back on the proverbial horse. Malcolm couldn't afford the division of his energy between attempting to oust Steve and keeping the government out of trouble.

Putting the dishes into the sink, Malcolm wondered if his plan would be successful. Marianne could be counted on – she was a freelance and a fledgling – but he needed the support of the others to make it work.

He also needed to relax otherwise, he knew, things wouldn't come together again. Malcolm knew what, or rather who, had the strange power to put him at ease, but the odds of seeing her again were as slim as an anorexic. Picking up his blackberry, he called her mobile.

**OoOoO**

Ever since Malcolm had first phoned her in the aftermath of that morning, Natalie had ignored every one of his calls. At first, when her anger had been fresh and raw, it had been easy. There had been a grim satisfaction whenever she had deleted the messages he had left; an almost rebellious pleasure in deleting both of his texts, unread. Now, it left her cold. She hadn't been able to delete his last message.

But, it seemed that Malcolm wouldn't leave her alone. Everywhere Natalie went, everything that she did, there were reminders of him. _It was a bloody nightmare_. Almost every broadsheet newspaper had run some kind of editorial on him that morning, the blouse she had wanted to wear to work was somewhere in his house, along with her favourite pyjamas, every time she watched Jonathon Ross she heard his commentary, and to top it all off, a perfectly innocent invitation to dinner by a new co-worker had sparked a memory of what the meal had once served as a euphemism for.

"What have I done to deserve this?" Theatrically, Natalie flopped onto the couch. Internally she could hear the sarcastic reply _'Joined up the fucking Hitler Youth, I think...'_.

This couldn't go on. Returning to her laptop, Natalie continued working. She would keep going until she forgot about Malcolm.

It turned out that things weren't as simple as all that.

The television attached to the wall of the office, permanently on BBC News 24, was droning in the background. Natalie was ahead of schedule and idly wondering if she could get away with ordering from pizza hut and not sharing, when the dull buzz was increased in volume. She looked up from the pamphlet on her desk, and at first Natalie thought she had become delusional.

_Malcolm Tucker Resigns_.

_Resignation?_ This was never something she had considered to be within the realms of possibility. Instantly she realised, as almost anyone with a modicum of sense did, that the hand of the Director of Communications had been forced. After a moment, Natalie realised that she was not dreaming. But for the voices of the broadcasters, the office had fallen silent. Nancy watched the screen, transfixed – not even the senior officials in their building had known this was coming – and wearing the same look of shock that mirrored that everyone else.

The item carried on for a number of minutes, but Natalie couldn't process it. Malcolm had been so much higher up the ladder – the Heart of Darkness, according to the Guardian – and he was a political Goliath. _He had been sacked_. It was almost impossible to believe. Natalie wondered where he was now, and what he was doing- _could Malcolm come back from something like this?_

Natalie stood, feeling like she was going to suffocate. She didn't know how she felt about Malcolm being fired, but there was no way she could listen to the gossip and speculation that was already beginning.

**OoOoO**

It was quiet. _Too quiet_. Malcolm thought about turning on his television, but the thought of seeing the news of what was, effectively, his demise, was too much for him to stand. He would give his right hand to have heard one of the ministers stuttering out a confession, the Prime Minister's overly serious tones, or even the overly-enunciated musings of Julius Nicholson.

Malcolm sat in the dark until he was too tired even to ask himself the question that had been running through his mind ever since his premature return home; _where had it all gone so fucking wrong_? It was like ketchup flavoured crisps, rap being counted as music, or Peter Andre's celebrity status: it made no sense to him.

Slowly, he climbed the steps to his bedroom. It too was silent and empty. Malcolm picked up his phone before he could question the wisdom of such an action and phoned Natalie. _Her company was better than nothing_- she did _not_ make him feel happier than ordinary. There was, unsurprisingly, no answer, and he sat through the Thatcher speech before leaving a message after the beep.

"I would like to see you. It... it would be nice."

It was, as messages went, utterly inadequate, but Natalie had become surprisingly good at picking up on what it was that he meant to say. She was bound to have heard what had happened by now, so why hadn't she answered?

Because you were a bastard and she left.

Malcolm picked up the bottle of Channel perfume that had, in recent weeks, adorned his dresser. He pressed the button and released a liberal spray of the rich, familiar scent. _This was completely pathetic. He was a sad, sad cunt. _Despising himself for stooping to a new low, Malcolm threw the container so hard that it shattered against the wall. All around him was the smell of Channel. _Fucking wonderful_.

Once he had read that when a person slept, they had no sense of smell. Without removing his clothes or shoes, Malcolm got into bed. He felt twice his age. Everything he had worked towards was gone. The world of intrigue and espionage continued without him. As Malcolm drifted off to sleep, his hand snaked underneath the other pillow and clung to the t-shirt that Natalie had left behind.

**OoOoO**

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


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